What They Don't Teach You at Durmstrang
by ItWritesStuff
Summary: Viktor Krum placed his name in the Goblet of Fire to win. He did not cross oceans to be captivated by castles, to call his rivals his friends, or to willingly give his heart to a bushy-haired bookworm that didn't know a thing about the 'Wronski Feint'. It appears that Durmstrang students are not taught enough magic, for if they were a place like Hogwarts wouldn't be missed.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: First attempt at a Harry Potter story, split into three parts. Main focus of this is the Triwizard champions' development, of course with more focus on Viktor Krum and his general outlook on life. I should probably warn you that this Krum is nothing like Movie Krum. He is Book Krum through and through, or at least as close to the Book Krum as I can remember. Book Krum is not handsome, muscular, smooth or charismatic and he is most certainly not an idiot, as the movie made him out to be. He's extremely skinny, 'sulky', duck-footed with a large hooked nose and bushy eyebrows. He was basically described in the books as looking like an overgrown bird of prey, and while I imagine that he wouldn't necessarily be ugly, I'm still pretty sure that he's not as good looking as the actor portraying him. I also imagine him to be a prodigy of some sorts, having been chosen to play for an international team while still remaining in school.

Long note is long to avoid disappointments! Also keep in mind that anything said in _italics_ is being spoken in Bulgarian. I figured it's easier to keep up that way, since I'm dropping the accent and sticking with simple, broken English whenever Krum speaks because I'm just too terrible at writing in accents.

* * *

Viktor Krum wasn't very impressed with his potential competitors.

The witches and wizards from Beauxbatons Academy were affected by rain to such an extent that it soured their mood too much to pretend to be the least bit flattered by their host's hospitality. If they thought _this_ is cold, thought Viktor, they really ought to get out of France more often. On the other hand his peers with their brooding stony faces weren't any better, but at least they weren't moaning and complaining and scrunching up their noses at every single plate offered.

One thing he's willing to give them credit for is the graceful way in which they carried themselves despite their shivering, wet, and disheveled state. Their reputation precedes them in that regard.

It's just too easy, too _boring_. Defeating the Beauxbatons champion would be like taking candy from a baby. He was really looking forward to the tournament. He was hoping for something a bit more challenging and exciting, something _different_ from Quidditch, and granted the students of Hogwarts were more promising than their French counterparts, but they still were not nearly promising enough for him.

For one thing, there were _many_ of them, hundreds of students more than both the selected Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students combined. More students meant more potential competitors, thus endless possibilities, and he thought that it would compensate for what Beauxbatons lacked but when he did a quick scan of the faces within his line of view- all staring back dumbly, admirably, and completely unaware of his judgment. –he hardly found anyone worth challenging. He was probably older than most of them, and most definitely a better dueler than all of them considering Hogwarts' history of shying away from anything to do with the Dark Arts beyond defense charms or counter-curses.

He had heard that Harry Potter, the boy who defeated some powerful wizard as a mere infant, attended Hogwarts. Now _he_ would make an interesting competitor. Viktor marveled at the thought of competing against The Boy Who Lived for the Triwizard Cup and winning, but he then remembered that he himself had been maybe five or six years old when he first heard the story all the way in Bulgaria. The boy, wherever he was hiding in the sea of spellbound faces, was likely too young to compete.

 _This is child's play,_ he thought bitterly as he turned back towards the aging Hogwarts Headmaster and his speech. It if hadn't been for the Triwizard Tournament's notoriously dangerous tasks, so dangerous that they have in fact claimed lives in the past, Viktor would've probably changed his mind about the whole ordeal.

He allowed his eyes to wander as the feast commenced. It occurred to him that Hogwarts castle was really, really big. It also had a strange kind of charm. Torches and colorful banners on grey walls felt warm and welcoming, despite the cold and the strange unfamiliarity of the environment and its occupants. It was the kind of warmth he had never felt at Durmstrang.

He was never one for old castles, but ever since he stepped foot in Hogwarts he had to fight the urge to abandon the feast and explore its secrets.

* * *

The dinning hall had been cleared of tables and replaced with benches lined neatly on five steps against the walls on either side of the hall, leaving the path from the entrance to the Goblet of Fire clear. The Goblet was placed on a pedestal in front of the staff's table. It's flames were dancing rather gently as they cast a bright blue light all around the hall, illuminating it more so than the dim torches on the walls. It gave Viktor a good cover. He was able to put his name in the Goblet early and retreat to the farthest bench before all the students started piling in. He hadn't been in Hogwarts long, but judging from the students' reaction so far, he knew that he wouldn't be able to observe his competitors in peace without whispers and hundreds of eyes glued on him.

It's a very rare thing for one such as Viktor Krum, to be sitting in the middle of a large crowd and not have his personal space invaded or his choices questioned. He savored such moments. If he hadn't loved playing Quidditch so much he would've probably quit a long time ago.

One after another, his peers placed their names in the Goblet, each more determined than the last. The Beauxbatons all did the same as well, smiling rather smugly, as if putting one's name is enough to win the tournament. Hogwarts students were taking it far too lightly.

The ones younger than seventeen were trying to push each other into the Age Line, laughing and jeering like monkeys, while the older students made a big show of putting their names in and being stung by the Goblet and then falling rather dramatically back onto their friends. He would've found it comical had it not been what it is, and would've probably joined in the laughter their antics incited, but their lack of competitiveness aggravated him too much.

Was he doomed to compete against a princess and a buffoon?

A pair of twins with long, bright red hair and freckles caught his attention. They were announcing rather triumphantly that they have successfully brewed a potion that will deceive the Age Line and allow them to put their names in the Goblet. They bickered briefly with Harry Potter and his friends, whom Viktor hadn't noticed sitting on the lower benches until now. The smaller boy with the red hair, whom he assumed to be the twins' younger brother, was doubtful of their success just as much as the girl with the bushy hair and the open thick volume on her lap. Harry Potter seemed mildly amused.

The twins downed the potion. Viktor leaned closer, now very much interested and wondering if the twins really were a lot more powerful than they appeared ,because only a particularly powerful wizard and potion master could deceive an Age Line especially drawn by none other than Albus Dumbledore himself.

He doubts that even Igor Karkaroff or Olympe Maxime would know how to deceive it.

He caught Albus Dumbledore walking in from the corner of his eyes. He turned back towards the twins and their crowd of admirers, but they seemed to be completely oblivious to their Headmaster's presence. Dumbledore was not regarding them with anger and distaste, as Karkaroff would have, but with a curious smile. He seemed just as interested as Viktor was of the outcome, and didn't look like he was about to put a stop to it.

He was either too curious to care about the Ministry's laws or too confident with his own abilities to worry too much.

The twins jumped over the line and placed their names in. Viktor felt the same surge of excitement rushing through him when he first heard of the tournament. If one of those young wizards, or hopefully both, get chosen by the Goblet-

His thoughts were cut short when the flames from the Goblet erupted and turned into a bright, angry shade of red, eliciting gasps and screams from the unsuspecting crowd. The twins were roughly hurled back over the Line and nearly crushed onto the pile of occupied benches. They groaned as they struggled to get back up on their feet, rubbing their heads and backsides, and when they turned to face the crowd the entire room erupted into laughter. Their smooth chins were now covered by long, bushy white beards that clashed horribly with their red hair. They stared at each other with identical gaping mouths, before one shoved the other and blamed him for this blunder. The second twin replied in kind, and soon enough they were scuffling on the ground again, each insisting that it was the other's fault, causing more and more people to laugh.

"I did warn you," said Dumbledore, finally announcing his presence. There still wasn't a hint of anger in his voice.

The twins eventually left the hall for the hospital wing, still shoving and calling each other names. Unbeknownst to himself, Viktor was smiling.

* * *

Viktor Krum had underestimated his competitors.

He was able to detect that Fleur Delacour, the pretty, frail looking girl with silver blond hair, blue eyes, and a bewitching smile was actually part Veela. He was certain of it the moment he felt the familiar yet faint tug when she briefly cast her eyes on him. She wasn't as pure or strong as his team's mascots but she had just enough allure to benefit her in perhaps one or two tasks, should her challenger be weak enough or unaware or previously unexposed to her kind.

There was nothing special about Hogwarts champion Cedric Diggory. He was handsome for sure, handsome enough to have Fleur's hungry eyes following his every move, but not so much that he could use it to his advantage in any task. Until his name was called, Viktor had never heard it being whispered in the hallways or during mealtimes. He noticed that Cedric wore the yellow and black colors of that one house with the rodent mascot that goes by the name Huffles or Bubbles. Viktor was never good with foreign names, but in his short stay he was briefed on the four houses and their slogans, and that of Cedric's house included fierce loyalty. He can't see it helping him during the tournament. Unless, of course, if that were his strategy.

It's devious, but smart. Cedric could pretend to be friendly and useless and drop the act when it suits him, and then slip right under their noses and grab the cup when they least expect it. He didn't look like the devious type, but that could be a part of the act. Not everything is what it seems, after all, and Viktor himself can testify to that. People are still astonished to see him sporting only a broken nose and the occasional black eye after getting repeatedly pounded by Bludgers.

He couldn't have hoped for anything better.

Things got even more exciting when Hogwarts' second champion joined them. _Harry Potter._

Naturally, everyone was in an uproar. Madam Maxime and Karkaroff were for once on the same page, the first insinuating foul play and the second point blank insisting that it is, and that they ought to have the chance to enter a second champion from their own schools to tie the scores. That one minister was beside himself with shock, while the more colorful one was beside himself with absolute joy.

Viktor and Cedric were the only quiet ones in the room. He was wondering if Cedric's line of thought was similar to his own.

The scarred Hogwarts professor and apparently Karkaroff's adversary, Alastor Moody, had said what they all feared. Someone else had put Harry Potter's name in the Goblet of Fire, without his knowledge or consent, and that someone likely did so to get him killed.

Like many others Viktor had heard the stories of the snake-like dark wizard, and of his several attempts at disposing of Harry Potter. He didn't need to be told in plain Bulgarian that the person who put Harry's name in the Goblet is likely one of that wizard's followers.

 _A rat in the castle_ , he mused.

He then looked at the fourth champion. It didn't occur to him just how young Harry truly is. He had to be- what, twelve? Fourteen? He wasn't even close to being a man, not by a long shot, and from the anxious looks his green eyes kept throwing at the multiple faces around the room Viktor could tell that he himself is terrified enough.

Whatever the headmasters, professors, ministers, and contestants believed, Viktor decided that the boy is being honest. He did not put his name in the Goblet of Fire. It wasn't out of kindness or pity from Viktor's part, of course, but simply the fact that the boy didn't look like he had what it takes. He's not one to question Harry Potter's celebrity status, but he does question his overall ability to perform as a decent wizard under dangerous circumstances, and from one look he found that they boy lacked the necessary set of skills to get him past the three tasks unscathed.

He decided to avoid Harry Potter in the future. The boy, innocent as he believes him to be, is still a liability. Viktor can't afford to be distracted by dark English wizards and decade-old vendettas. He came here for one reason only, and that is to bring home the Triwizard Cup.

* * *

Viktor was surprised to find that Harry was being ostracised by his own peers. He had expected it from his own and from the Beauxbatons lot, and they did not disappoint, but it still came as a shock for him to see Hogwarts students spitting insults and accusations at the boy whenever they saw him and wearing badges with hate slogans directed towards Harry Potter in support of Cedric Diggory.

He briefly wondered if Cedric was behind this.

The boy in question appeared by his side, leaning on the rails next to him as they watched a flushed looking Harry shove past a group of students pointing their badges at him, sniggering and hurling more insults at his back.

"Bet people aren't this harsh in Durmstrang," said Cedric, staring after Harry with concern. "Even if he did cheat his way in, that doesn't exactly make him the scum of the Earth and warrant this kind of treatment."

Viktor snorted. If the tournament had been hosted in Durmstrang Harry would be hexed for this. Still, he nodded in agreement with Cedric. They were behaving rather childishly. Either hex the boy into oblivion or leave him be.

He was suddenly aware of how close and friendly Cedric was being.

"I will go now," he said, eyeing Cedric suspiciously before turning from him. If Cedric had noticed Viktor's discomfort he didn't show it.

"Alright then," he said, smiling and waving as Viktor ascended the stairs. "See you around, mate!"

Later in the afternoon a teary-faced girl with bushy hair ran so fast past him she nearly knocked him over. She was covering her abnormally large and still growing front teeth with both hands, though that didn't help much as they'd already grown past her chin.

Perhaps, he thought, Hogwarts really wasn't that different from Durmstrang.

* * *

It didn't take long for Karkaroff to discover the first challenge. Then again, said challenge was massive and loud and breathed fire not too deep into the Forbidden Forest.

" _Dragons_!" said Karkaroff, his arms outstretched in the air, his wide smile displaying rows of rotting yellow teeth. " _Four of them- a Hungarian Horntail, Chinese Fireball, Swedish Short-Snout, and a Common Welsh. Fully grown. I've seen Dragon Keepers so I highly doubt they'll ask you to slay them."_

Viktor nodded. " _They must be guarding something."_

Karkaroff laughed. " _A damsel in distress? That's perfect, you have the qualities of the fairytale knight already! Unless if she's a muggle- Dumbledore loves them. He'll likely sneak one in to try to get you to fail. "_

Viktor resisted the urge to roll his eyes. _"I was thinking more in lines of the exist."_

Karkaroff cleared his throat, having finally felt his champion's annoyance. " _Ah, yes, of course. You'll have to get past them."_

He decided to explore the library in hopes of finding something that could refresh his memories on dragons. He had written the names of the four breeds in a small piece of parchment in Russian letters to avoid getting caught (" _excellent thinking, Viktor!"_ Karkaroff had exclaimed.) and scanned the towering shelves for their respective titles. He was disappointed to find that none of the dragons had their own volumes, but were rather grouped together with several other breeds in many different books.

He grabbed a few thicker volumes intended for sixth and seventh year students and found himself an empty chair and table. He opened one and was immediately assaulted by long English words he's never seen or heard before. He understood, of course, when putting two and two together but he figured now isn't the time to be working on his English language skills. He took out his wand, tapped it on the page and muttered an incantation he learned from one of his language professors. The old letters on the page slowly reshaped themselves from English to Russian. Satisfied with the sight of more familiar words, he leaned back on his chair and started to read.

When he opened the second book a deafening roar erupted from its pages and hot flames nearly singed Viktor's face, had he not moved back fast enough and slammed the book shut. He stood up and leaned forward with his palms pressed tight against the book, making sure that whatever that was it stayed in the book. In Durmstrang students dueling and wrestling beasts back into their pages was common sight, but he wasn't very familiar with the rules at Hogwarts and didn't want to get disqualified from the tournament for burning the school's library and injuring its students.

It took him a while to realize that the creature within the book wasn't struggling to get out. Frowning, he slowly sat back down. He hesitantly lifted the cover. A thin flame licked his thumb. He slammed it shut a lot harder than he did the first time.

"Do you mind?" a very irritated, feminine voice hissed at him. He looked up and saw that it was Harry Potter's friend, the bushy haired girl whose teeth were hexed not too long ago, glaring back at him.

Her table was considerably messier than any other table he's ever seen. It was littered with parchments, half fully scribbled on and half scrunched up. A single dripping quill was balanced between her ink-stained thumb and index finger. She was surrounded by not one, but several piles of thick books, piles so tall she could've used them to create a fortress of her own. Her robes were cast on the chair beside her, and the sleeves of her grey sweater were pushed all the way to her elbows.

The light streaming from the windows caught a few tangled knots in her hair, probably due to being pulled and twirled for hours, and a thin streak of ink on one cheek. It made her glare look a lot less menacing than she intended for it to be.

Whatever workload she had it seemed to be three times the amount of seventh years'. Viktor doesn't recall seeing anyone that cared that much about education and schoolwork.

He flushed, suddenly embarrassed at having disturbed her when she was neck-deep in what appeared to be a really important assignment. He opened his mouth to apologize but was immediately cut off by barely-muffled, girlish giggles behind him, followed by a collective hiss from what he assumed to be more girls. Looking back at the girl he realized that she wasn't glaring at him, but at something behind him. Curious, and partly nervous, he turned around in his chair and saw _them._

Fangirls. He tried really hard not to groan.

They were a rather large group, all very pretty, and they squealed and giggled even more when their eyes met his. He kept his expression solid as that of a professional Quidditch player but his insides were churning. Too many questions flooded his mind. How long have they been there? How long have they been _following_ him?! Had they been on the ship? Did they overhear any of his conversations with Karkaroff? It wouldn't matter, he reasoned with himself, not unless one of them understands Bulgarian.

He couldn't tell them to leave, as much as he wanted to. They were his fans. They loved him unconditionally, however blind and illusional that love may be, and it's an unspoken, unbroken rule for any celebrity to accept that love. It's a small sacrifice in exchange of fame and glory, and he did learn to accept it and tune it out when necessary, but with all the hate and attention being directed towards Harry Potter and away from him he couldn't help but get a little too comfortable with the sudden and unexpected gift of silence.

He heard an exasperated sigh from the girl. He turned back in his chair to apologize and to excuse himself, but found that she had already gotten up and stuffed her parchments rather angrily back into her bag, grumbling under her breath as she grabbed the remaining books that wouldn't fit in her bag and stacking them on top of each other. He contemplated offering his help but by the time he made his decision she had already stalked away from him and towards the exit.

He contemplated following her. Hushed giggles from the shelves behind him gave him enough reason not to. Still, he was a gentleman through and through. He couldn't let it go. He had to apologize.

* * *

The girl was as hard to find as it was hard to shake off his horde of admirers. He could be imagining things, but somehow they seemed to have multiplied since he left the library. A part of him- the Durmstrang student, Bulgarian Quidditch Seeker, Triwizard champion part. –told him to forget about her, that she's not worth the trouble and that he's got more important things to worry about. The other part of him, the Viktor Krum raised on concepts of nobility in their purest form, told him that he was a better man than all those titles and cold medals and empty cups.

He found her many hours later, after finally shaking off his giggly stalkers, but still she was out of reach.

She was sitting on a stony bench on the opposite end of a partly emptied courtyard, her scrolls and books once again littered all around her. She had a single sheet of parchment paper laid flat on one book and a quill in her hand. She was slightly hunched over her parchment, scribbling away and stopping only to dip her quill in ink. Her rosy bottom lip was caught in her teeth and the tips of her eyebrows looked like they were about to touch.

She was so deep in thought, so caught up in her own work, that he couldn't will himself to disturb her a second time. So he waited, and the longer he did the harder it felt to draw breath.

The sun was revealing different streaks of brown on her hair. It was mostly chestnut but he caught rare, thin wisps of gold. She absently tucked strands behind her ear, exposing the pale skin of her cheek, her delicate jawline, and a thin smooth neck.

He tugged at the collar of his shirt. It shouldn't be hot. They were nearing mid-November.

Had she always…looked like the way she did? If so, how could he have not noticed? To be fair he had never really properly looked at her before. His mind was too preoccupied with the tournament and his competitors to pay attention to their companions.

 _Just another pretty face,_ he tried convincing himself. No need to loose his head over it. She's probably not that different from all the other girls he's been with. Maybe a little smarter, but hardly any different.

All he had to do was apologize and get it over with. It's not the first time he spoke to the opposite sex, and it's certainly not the first time he apologized to anyone, and yet he can't seem to be able to do anything with himself besides standing still and watching her from across the courtyard.

She leaned back, her eyes scanning the parchment for any mistakes. She placed it neatly on the pile next to her when she didn't find any, her lips curled into a satisfied smile.

He felt the heat rising to his face. He closed his eyes and forced himself into a calmed, collected state. He shouldn't be feeling this way, not right now, and especially not towards her. He didn't even know her name to begin with.

"Hey, Krum!"

The familiar and unexpected voice of Cedric Diggory shook him out of his revere. He turned around just as his competitor caught up with him, followed closely by his group of friends and a jovial Fleur clinging to his arm. The human-Veela very briefly regarded Viktor before turning her attention back to Cedric.

"We're taking Fleur to Hogsmeade," he said, giving him the same friendly, inviting smile. "It's a village not too far from here. She's never been, and I'm assuming you haven't either."

Viktor didn't say anything. He waited for him to continue, and tried not to look too impatient about it.

"He's wondering if you'd like to join us," said Fleur, her thick accented English dripping with irritation at having to say the words herself.

Viktor ignored her. He glanced at Cedric's group. They were preoccupied with each other a few paces behind Cedric and Fleur. They seemed far enough and out of earshot.

"Who is that?" he said, nodding towards the girl on the bench, now talking to two Indian girls that must've joined her at some point when he was being distracted. "The one with all the books."

"Oh, that's Hermione Granger," replied Cedric. "She's a close friend of Harry's. She's pretty notorious on her own around here, though, being the smartest witch in Hogwarts and all."

He nodded. Smartest witch. It all made sense.

"Hermonin Granger," he muttered, trying the foreign name on his tongue.

Cedric chuckled. "No, Krum, _Hermione."_

"Horrminy."

"Err, not quiet. Here, try this: HER-MY-OH-KNEE."

"Her…her…" Viktor hesitated, suddenly too aware of his broken English. Fleur raised perfect blond eyebrows expectantly. Cedric nodded encouragingly. "Her-Hermione." He allowed himself a small triumphant smile. "Hermione Granger."

"See, all you needed was practice," said Cedric. He grinned. "So I take it you fancy her?"

His smile dropped instantly. "No."

Fleur rolled her eyes. She tugged at Cedric's arm gently, indicating that she really wanted to go and could care less about Viktor Krum's love life, but Cedric was so happy with his discovery that he didn't notice.

"It's alright if you do, mate. She's brilliant." He said, chuckling and clamping a hand over Viktor's shoulder. "Don't worry, your secret is safe with me."

" _I'm not your mate,"_ he growled, shrugged Cedric's hand off his shoulder.

"I'm sorry?"

"Enjoy your horse meat," he said, his mood now too sour for pleasantries, faked or otherwise.

"It's.. it's Hogsmeade…actually…" Cedric trailed off as Viktor gave him his back and walked up the stairs towards the entrance of the castle, easily cutting through his friends. He looked at Fleur, still confused with Viktor's sudden change in manner. She shrugged, still uncaring.

"I was just trying to help…" he said, more to himself than anyone else, clearly upset at having failed to help.

Fleur turned back towards Viktor, now a good few steps ahead of them but still within earshot. She released Cedric's arm and cupped her hands around her lips. She called, "hey, don't forget her name!"

A satisfied smile crept over her face as she saw his ears reddening instantly, and she knew it had nothing to do with the cold. He glanced over his shoulder, his expression barely visible but deadly and threatening still. She scoffed and flipped her thick yellow hair over her shoulder, clearly unaffected.

Cedric was more taken aback, either by Viktor's sudden hostility or Fleur's boldness. "Fleur, that really wasn't necessary-"

"Honestly, Krum," she added, ignoring Cedric, "watching you struggle was painful. Try not to forget, yes?"

Viktor's hand itched for his wand. Had he had free reigns they'd be dueling till nightfall. He had never held anything against Veelas in general but he absolutely _hates_ this vain little halfwit. He could hardly wait to see her face when they announce his name as the Triwizard Champion.

"I will not forget," he said slowly, scowling down at her.

"Good," she said, flipping her hair again and taking Cedric's arm. "We'll be in Hogsmeade if you change your mind."

" _I don't care about your horse meat!"_ He muttered angrily as he marched towards the lake where Durmstrang's ship was docked.

Two hours later, he forgot the girl's name.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Friendly reminder that anything said in _italics_ is spoken in Bulgarian. Also a quick, warm thank you to all the lovely people that read, reviewed, and added this story to their favourites/alerts! I'm sorry I haven't replied before updating- I'm extremely terrible at replying to something as instant as a text message, but I promise I'll try to do that in future! And please know that I truly appreciate each review/alert. I really wasn't expecting any kind of reception, as I'm aware that Viktor/Hermione is not a very popular pair to begin with and that Krum is usually used either as a side-character or mentioned in passing, so I was really happy, so happy that I immediately started working on the next chapter. Thank you all so much!

* * *

The castle felt more inviting at night. Engulfed by darkness he roamed for hours, free of his admirers' pursuit and of his critics' whispers and of Karkaroff's demands. His body ached for rest but he hardly cared. There were talking portraits, animated suits of armor, ghosts, moving stairs, and secret passageways that disappear when he looks away only to reappear somewhere else. He can rest when he's dead.

This is not his first time in a magical castle . Durmstrang castle is ripe with magic on its own, powerful dark magic he couldn't speak of without incriminating himself, but it still wasn't quite as unique as Hogwarts.

It is said that Durmstrang, too, have had talking portraits of formidable and notorious Eastern European witches and wizards, some of which were staff at the school. Viktor, of course, never saw those portraits himself. They were all removed shortly after Karkaroff was instated as Headmaster. The official reason was 'being a distraction for the students', but Karkaroff's past endeavors were no secret to even the artificially animated. It was said that the portraits hissed and hurled insults at him every time he passed them, and that they did it so often that he had reached his limits within three days.

Viktor assumed that the portraits would be just as silly and jolly, judging from the Headmaster and the general student body, but every time he tried talking to one he was either ignored or scolded like a little child. Some of them threatened him with a 'Filch', and he couldn't exactly remember coming across the word when learning the language but one look from the worried faces of the nicer portraits told him that he probably shouldn't tempt a Filch summoning.

 _All the more reason to return to the library._

He glared at nothing in particular as he marched past a row of suit of armors towards the stairs, the tip of his wand flaring brightly and reflecting on the shiny metal helmets that turned to look at him as he passed. That thought, wherever it came from, was uncalled for. He had a perfectly good library on deck at his disposal, stacked with perfectly advanced and possibly illegal books that would turn the English ministers' hair white. There must but plenty enough books about this Filch creature there. Besides, there's always Diggory insisting on helping him with nonexistent issues even though he keeps telling him to go away.

 _Cedric Diggory is not your friend_ , a voice that sounded too much like Karkaroff chided. He stopped at the platform just as the staircase behind him shifted, more angry at having Karkaroff in his head than at his previous thoughts.

With the first task drawing closer the Headmaster had taken it upon himself to ensure that his champion stayed in top physical and mental condition. He had meals especially prepared to him, and while the idea would normally sound great and almost luxurious, the more he ate of that abomination his headmaster called food the sicker he felt. In addition to that he was made to duel and to practice curses with animated dummies for hours on end, hearing nothing but Karkaroff moaning about their general uselessness compared to real wizards. Had it not been for the school's rules and their ministry's laws, Viktor knows his target practice would've either been real students or real baby dragons. All that topped with actual school work and his admirers constantly on his heels, Viktor barely had time to breathe.

He leaned back against the railing. The light from his wand shifted and hit a rather large lady housed in an equally large portrait. She huffed and stuttered sleepily, her eyes glassy as they regarded Viktor. He would've ignored her and removed his wand from her face had she not said something about a password.

When he had been selected to participate in the Triwizard Tournament, he had taken it upon himself to read extensively on Hogwarts in hopes of gaining basic knowledge on his school's host and possible competitors. The library at Durmstrang Institute did not offer much besides its general history and relationship to the school, and the few professors that bothered to answer some of his questions were dismissive, but in his search he did catch wind of rumors of hidden rooms behind portraits.

" _Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus_ ," he said, starting with the school's slogan when he saw the lady's large head drooping.

That seemed to have woken her up. At first he thought he got the password right, either by pure good luck or due to the school's lack of decent security, but then she straightened herself and lifted her chin haughtily at him, spreading her fan in an elaborate, dramatic fashion.

"Wrong password," she said, fanning herself. Somehow he felt challenged by the gesture.

He paused, feeling like his next guess would be far too easy and obvious. He decided to try it anyway. "Harry Potter."

"You could do with a bit of creativity up there, young man," she said, rolling her eyes upwards, chuckling at her own joke.

"Albus Dumbledore?"

"It's not a name-!"

"Godric Gryffindor."

She stopped, looking slightly impressed. "W-well, you're getting closer, but that's still the wrong password!"

She regarded him with a smug kind of smile as he paced and thought about his next guess. The only thing he knew about Godric Gryffindor is that he was one of the founders. He liked his name more than the other three because he was able to remember it better due to the 'griffin' part. There was nothing else about the founders of Hogwarts, at least nothing he could remember coming across in his research at Durmstrang's library.

"Give me hint," he said, stopping in the middle of the platform to look at her.

"I will do no such thing!" she replied, looking as flustered as a disrupted giant hen. "The audacity of these young men!" she said, fanning herself furiously.

"Why not?"

"B-because!" she snapped her fan shut, glaring at him. "That's not how things work!"

He shrugged. "No one here."

She leaned closer, looking at him as if seeing him for the first time, her beady eyes raking his tall, lanky form illuminated by his wand. Feeling exposed all of a sudden, he tightened his grip on his wand and lowered it from her face, as if fearing that she might grab it from the confinement of the portrait.

"You're not from around here, are you?" She said, leaning back into her fluffy cushions.

"No," he said, now confused as to how it took her this long to figure it out, and most importantly, how she still doesn't recognize him. Surely she's heard whispers. He hears them practically everywhere he goes.

"Well then I'm afraid I can't let you in at all," she said. She smiled in a way that reminded him of his mother when she successfully drags him to one of her many dinner parties, only to 'forget' him in the company of simpering young witches that claim to admire what he does but somehow can't tell the difference between a Quaffle and a Bludger.

"Well, what are you still standing here for?" she said, now using her fan to shoo him away. "Move along, now. I'd really hate to call Filch on you, dear, but it's really late and I do need to rest my vocals."

"What is behind you?" he asked.

"Gryffindor common room, which you will have absolutely no access to."

"Can I see if I have password?"

"No, of course not! Are you even listening to me?" she sighed. "Oh, never mind! I highly doubt you'll acquire the password, anyway. Now move along before I call Filch!"

He nodded. "I will come back with password tomorrow."

"No, you will not come back!" she said, once again looking like a ruffled hen. "You have to be at Hogwarts and in House Gryffindor to have access to the common room!"

He frowned. "I am at Hogwarts."

"You still can't return tomorrow!"

He paused. "Yes, tomorrow is tournament. I will come after tomorrow."

"You will do no such thing!" she said shrilly, looking like she really wanted to leave her portrait and shake him.

"I'm sorry I woke you up, _"_ he said, bowing, "I will leave you to rest vocals now. _Nox."_

The ancient halls were once again bathed in black. The Fat Lady stuttered her protests as his footsteps echoed further and further away from her, taken aback by his politeness and perseverance.

"Bloody foreigners!" she huffed. She shifted in her portrait to make herself more comfortable, leaning back and closing her eyes. "I ought to…I ought to inform Dumbledore of this…curios, strange boy…" she yawned. "…or not… let him go with a warning, I did…"

* * *

Viktor hardly slept that night. The four champions were too taken with nerves to notice, making the air in the tent feel a lot thicker than necessary, but after the fourth yawn Cedric crept closer and leaned next to him on the pillar.

"Rough night?" he said, in a voice low enough only for him to hear.

He snorted. He wouldn't exactly call it rough, because he's had truly rough nights. It was more lack of sleep, obviously, due to countless of thoughts swimming in his head and making him toss around at night instead of getting any kind of rest. By the time he managed to doze off a little he was woken up rather harshly by Karkaroff, who proceeded to hound him for the exact reasons that lead to him missing the pre-tournament practice rounds Karkaroff had especially prepared for him.

" _It's too late, we're behind schedule now!"_ He had said when Viktor offered a solution, pacing the room angrily as Viktor stood by the bed, his posture straightened and rigid like the perfect soldier. " _The tournament is in an hour, Viktor. You didn't even come down to eat. Honestly, boy, what had gotten into you? How exactly do you expect to win this, with hardly any training or sustenance?"_ He rounded on him, his fur cloak whipping around his ankles and his expression scornful. " _At this rate you will get a heatstroke and collapse within five minutes, brining shame to the school and to myself on the very first task! Did your fame and horde of admirers make you so arrogant as to believe that you can take out a dragon in this state?!"_

He clenched his fists behind his back. Rare as these moments have been since Viktor became a famous athlete, he still hates it when Karkaroff scolds him. The older wizard had a way of making him feel inferior and stupid and childlike. He hadn't meant to make a mess of things, obviously. He wanted to win this just as much as Karkaroff, if not more. There's a lot more at stake for him if he looses this tournament, anyway. It's not only his school and his family, but his entire country rooting for and expecting him to win.

It wasn't his fault either that he couldn't sleep the night before, but he'd be damned if Karkaroff discovers the real reason. He'd take Karkaroff insinuating that Viktor is arrogant and irresponsible over an angry, most likely misleading letter to his parents any day.

His eyes automatically fell on Harry Potter. He looked even worse than Viktor, who appeared as calm as ever if his yawns were to be ignored. Harry actually looked worse than both Cedric and Fleur combined, the first having just stopped pacing and the other looking like she was trying really hard not to tremble. Harry was sitting alone staring down at his feet, a good distance away from the other champions. His face was so pale his scar stood out boldly, or at least a lot more than it normally does.

If Karkaroff had thought Viktor was likely to pass out he really should take a look at Harry.

Viktor almost pitied the boy. If he hadn't lost his way in the castle the night before on his way out, if he hadn't come across Harry Potter and his friend practicing a summoning charm in some abandoned classroom, causing him to spend the rest of the night thinking about that friend and trying to remember her name, Viktor might have even considered giving the boy a few pointers.

He feels like he should hate her. He should at least hate how flustered she makes him feel without even acknowledging his existence, but hard as he tried he couldn't bring himself to do it. It was his choice, after all, to go exploring the castle at night. It was his choice to stop and observe his rival in the shadows of the dark corridor. It was his choice to spend the rest of the night wondering what it was that made that witch, who couldn't possibly be any older than Harry Potter himself, so exceptional that the second Hogwarts champion would suffice with only her as a mentor.

Being the smartest witch of her age wouldn't cut it, he had reasoned with himself. There's being smart with theories and in practice, and one couldn't be both at such a young age, but judging from the brief moment he observed their session he could tell that she truly is brilliant in both areas. He couldn't help but be impressed with the way in which she very effortlessly summoned books and pillows and other items into her waiting hands while her friend, The Boy Who Lived, struggled for a long time until he got it right.

His mind was so preoccupied with the enigma that is her that he didn't think of informing Karkaroff, or of using that bit of information to his advantage. He had, after all, brought his broom with him. It's what flew him from the ship over the castle walls at the dead of the night without causing a disturbance.

That's not saying his own plan failed him, of course. He actually got the golden egg faster than both Fleur and Cedric using a simple Conjunctivitis Curse, and without getting burned like they both did. He had points deduced when the dragon in blind rage crushed the remaining eggs in search of its attacker, but he was still ahead of both champions by many points.

He was surprised to find Cedric grinning when he entered the designated tent.

"Well done!" he said, shaking his hand. "That was brilliant, Krum. Fleur barely got in here and you've already got your egg!"

Cedric's egg was next to Fleur's on the bench, where she sat fussing at the burned edges of her robes in very angry French. Cedric was about to usher Viktor towards her where he'll likely want to discuss methods, something Viktor was not expecting nor willing to participate in, when gasps and screams from the crowd outside caught their attention.

All three champions exchanged quick glances before hurrying outside, just in time to witness Harry mounting his broom- a Firebolt, Viktor noted, highly impressed despite himself.

"He's not allowed a broom!" protested Fleur, looking at her companions for support.

"I think he summoned it," said Cedric. "Didn't see him lugging it in, anyway."

The pieces fell into place in Viktor's head: The Firebolt, the Summoning Charm, and the late night practice sessions. He was suddenly on edge, leaning as far ahead as he could without setting foot into the arena, completely forgetting about his position in the matter and feeling the same way he did in his first Quidditch match.

"But it's against the rules!" Fleur said, looking around for someone to report this to. "We're only allowed our-"

"Shh!" Viktor hissed, sparing her a quick glare before turning his eyes to Harry, even though he didn't really need to hear anything as the deafening roar of the crowd nearly drowned out that of the dragon.

"Fleur, I really wouldn't do that," said Cedric, a hint of amusement in his tone, "I've never seen Krum this focused since-"

" _Shh!"_

"Sorry!"

Harry was a natural. He was clearly meant to fly, more so than any of the players Viktor had worked with. He and his broom were practically one. He maneuvered with grace around the dragon, getting just close enough to taunt her into leaving her eggs but not close enough to get hit. It was a dangerous technique that even he would think twice before executing, especially when faced with the formidable Hungarian Horntail, and this particular one happened to be nesting. It was a suicide mission, really, but to Harry it seemed like an everyday broom ride.

 _"_ _Higher,"_ he whispered without really intending to. " _She's taking the bait, go higher- now!"_

He flew higher, and the dragon followed suit. Viktor expected him to try to get her to fly off the ground completely, but to his astonishment the boy lunged forward and dived for the egg. The dragon swung her large, sharp claws at him, narrowly missing his head but still leaving a gash on his shoulder. He rushed forward anyway and grabbed the egg with his uninjured arm. The crowd's screams finally took over the dragon's angry roars.

Viktor was grinning from ear to ear, his grip on the railings tight. If Harry hadn't been his rival he would've been cheering.

He straightened up suddenly, his smile fading as the reality of the situation finally sunk in. He turned around when he was sure his expression was back to its common, neutral form to come face to face with a grinning Cedric and a conflicted Fleur.

"Don't worry, mate," he said, as if reading Viktor's mind. "I won't tell Potter you were rooting for him."

"I was not," he said, a little too quickly.

Harry joined them shortly after, his egg tucked under his arm and his broom clutched in his hand. The gash on his shoulder was bleeding still and his hair was messier than usual, but his grin remained as wide as his expression was ecstatic. Viktor had never seen the boy this happy before. Now that he thinks about it, he's never seen any other expression on his face besides fear or anger.

Once again, he felt compelled to at least pity him. He would have, too, had it not been for Karkaroff and the other Headmasters joining them, the first's expression being the very definition of rage.

* * *

Three days later the celebrations over Harry Potter's near death win were still very much alive. The boy was no longer hated and scorned by his peers, but finally accepted as Hogwarts' second champion. His feat with the dragon had apparently convinced everyone that, young and impulsive as he may be, he wouldn't be foolish enough to put his own name into the Goblet of Fire. The other factor that played into this change of perspective is that someone so 'young and impulsive' took on a Hungarian Horntail and came in tied with _the_ Viktor Krum for first place. Apparently it was, as the younger students put it, _awesome._

Viktor did not receive a similar reception. If he hadn't known any better he would've thought he came in last.

To say that Karkaroff was disappointed would've been an understatement. He had taken it upon himself, this time with more vigilance, to train Viktor to an inch of his life for the second task. He couldn't exactly punish him the same way he'd punish the other students, partly due to Viktor's fame putting Karkaroff and his shady past in a disadvantage, but he had increased the intensity of his physical training. Viktor wouldn't complain if the sessions are actually relevant to the tournament and it's tasks, but that he was running laps at the crack of dawn and doing thousands of bench presses and push ups and heavy lifting on top of mundane chores that kept him up past midnight, all without using magic, made it very clear to him that Karkaroff was doing this for his own enjoyment.

His parents weren't any better. Immediately after the tournament he found his room littered with letters demanding to know what it was that kept him from beating an inexperienced _boy_ four or five years his junior. His mother thought that he was getting sick, and she was a letter away from Apparating all the way to Scotland had he not hastily wrote her back, saying that it was unnecessary and that he had simply underestimated his opponent.

The pressure was crushing him. He desperately needed to get away from the ship altogether but he wasn't too keen on dealing with his admirers either, however when Karkaroff finally left him to seek the potions professor he decided to take the risk. From the look of things it might as well be his only chance.

He was relieved to find that his flock of admirers were too busy celebrating Harry's victory to come scouting for him. He still couldn't help but feel a little paranoid so he decided to head for the massive library, partly for the peace and quiet it offered and partly to commence his research on Godric Gryffindor. He was still very curious about the common room behind the painting, and he also promised the lady to come back with the password.

There were more books on the founders than there were on dragons. They each had their own separate biographies available in several languages. He was pleased to find that there were a lot of Russian books on Godric Gryffindor, some originally written in the language and others translated. He grabbed as much of them as his arms could carry and made his way towards one of the larger windows. He set himself and his books on the windowsill for better lighting and for the space much-needed to stretch his long, sore legs but when he opened the first book he found his eyes straying towards the landscape outside the window.

Curios as he was about the room beyond the portrait, he was still too exhausted to make sense of a single word in the ancient volume on his lap. He leaned his head on the glass and closed his eyes, thinking he'd rest his eyes for ten minutes, but the next thing he knew he was being shaken rather roughly by an old witch with a face that looked like it had just seen something extremely repulsive.

He jerked up in his place, his back now sore from leaning against the stone frame of the window for too long. He looked down in search of his books, but instead he found mountainous piles of letters blanketing him in varying shades of white, yellow, pink and red. Some of them had spilled from his lap and pooled on the ground next to the old witch's feet.

He glanced out the window and saw that it was already sunset. He looked back at the face of the old witch, her arms now folded over her chest and her foot tapping the ground.

"The library is no place for midday naps, Mr. Krum," she whispered irritably.

"S-sorry," he said, searching for the right words to explain himself but being far too distracted by the glitter from some of the letters reflecting a little too brightly for his bleary vision.

"I don't care for your apologies!" She hissed, gesturing wildly at the many cards strewn on his lap and on the floor. "The amount of disturbances you've caused since coming here, Mr. Krum, is the kind I would expect to see in the span of ten years. The constant whispering and giggling, that I will tolerate for the sake of the Headmaster, but _this!_ " again she pointed at the letters, looking like she would've burned them had it been without risk of inflicting damage on other books. "This mess I will not tolerate, Mr. Krum. Consider this your first, last, and only warning."

He nodded. He didn't trust himself enough to speak, not without hurling all the pent-up frustration from the past three days at a staff member of his school's host. He had already been reprimanded enough from his parents and from Karkaroff, and now his fangirls had gotten him an extra session for something he didn't even do.

"And clean up this mess!" she hissed, concluding their conversation as she swept around and stalked away from him, the books he had intended on reading now nestled under her arm. He stared after them longingly but didn't move to take them back. He didn't want to aggravate her anymore than necessary.

He sighed. He picked one obnoxiously glittered envelope covered with bright red hearts with fluttering wings. He opened it and was immediately assaulted by a sickly sweet smell that was so intense it put him in an immediate coughing fit. He hastily re-sealed it and threw it with the rest of the pile.

It wasn't exactly Love Potion material, but he was able to recognize it as a mediocre enchantment charm of some sorts. It was the type that was mostly used for pranks, so normally it wouldn't last more than a few hours if done correctly, but he was still appalled by the idea that some girl was not only desperate enough to try, but stupid enough to assume that he wouldn't recognize it for what it is. Did she assume that just because he's passionate about sports he's thick enough to fall for such petty tricks?

He didn't even want to know who sent it. He took out his wand and waved it once, gathering all the offensive envelopes into one big, tightly stacked ball. He allowed it to levitate above the shelves, momentarily considering setting it on fire if only to set an example, but ultimately deciding against it. With another wave of his wand the letters vanished into thin air.

He hopped off the windowsill and stretched. The library was empty, save for one or two students making what he assumed to be last minute additions to essays that are likely due soon, which could either mean that its almost suppertime or something new and big happened while he was asleep.

He made his way towards the exit through the maze of towering bookshelves, only to stop in his tracks at the sight of Harry Potter and his friend standing by the librarian's desk. He noticed that this time they were joined by the red-headed twins' younger brother. He appeared to be complaining about something to the girl, who's irritation only seemed to grow as she returned a tall stack of burrowed books to the still-irritated librarian in order to check out a fresh stack of books.

He was wondering if there was ever a time when she was seen without a book, or if she hadn't already read every book in the library. She must know a lot of things, he thought as he watched her stuffing her newly burrowed books into her bag, if she spends so much time reading.

Cedric clearly wasn't exaggerating when he called her the smartest witch in their school.

He was suddenly curios about the things she knows, and whether she's learned any other language besides English. If she did, and if one of those languages included at least Russian, talking to her would be so much easier. He wouldn't feel as intimidated by her intelligence, especially if the language barrier didn't make him sound a lot less articulate than he really is.

His eyes followed them until they disappeared behind the massive, open doors of the library. He waited for the librarian to carry half of the stack of newly returned books to their rightful places before creeping towards her desk. He grabbed the top book of the second half of the returned stack. He lifted its tattered cover and scanned the long list of students that have burrowed the book in the past.

"I do hope you cleaned up like I asked you to, Mr. Krum," the librarian said as she brushed past him, looking just as unpleasant as she did earlier and nearly startling him into dropping the book. "Well, did you?"

He nodded, again resisting the urge to use more colorful language. "All clean."

"Good," she said, without really looking pleased. She snatched the book from his hands and placed it back on top of the remaining returned books. She narrowed her eyes at him, as if the idea that he was still standing there for more than thirty seconds disgusted her. "Anything else I can help you with?" she asked, sounding like she'd rather nail her fingers to her cheeks instead.

"No, thank you," he said, backing away and this time openly glaring at her. "Good day."

He heard a "bloody foreigner!" muttered for the second time at his retreating back, and this time more indignantly, but he didn't really care. For the first time in three days he felt victorious enough to let it show on his face through a small, secret smile. He finally got her name. This time he won't forget it.

 _Herm-knee Granger._

* * *

A/N: So it appears that this story will be a lot longer than anticipated. Not by a lot, hopefully, but by two or three chapters- So instead of it being a three part piece, maybe five or six? It really all depends on the length of the following chapters, because seeing as the story is already pretty condensed I'm trying to keep each chapter below 5,000 words, which is still a lot for a Fanfic. I already planned this story to the end, I just can't seem to predict its length. Oh well, guess we'll see where it goes from here.

Hope you enjoyed that!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: This chapter took a while to edit. I do apologise, because it was actually finished ages ago, but I promise the delay wasn't intentional. One particular scene was very hard to write. I just wasn't satisfied with it for the longest time and I didn't feel comfortable with disregarding my concerns for the sake of updating faster. I really like how the story is turning out, and I really didn't want to disrupt the flow by forcing an update that I'm not particularly happy with. Again, I'm really sorry. I hope you understand.

I believe I replied to everyone, but in case I haven't: thank you all again for reviewing the previous chapter and for adding this story to your favourites/alerts list! Last I checked this story had fifty followers, and I'm just psyched knowing that there are fifty lovely humans from different corners of the world interested in what I have to write! Again, thank you so much for making my days brighter. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Also friendly reminder that anything said in _italics_ is being spoken in Bulgarian.

* * *

He's invisible to her.

Viktor usually enjoys being invisible outside Quidditch stadiums, so under normal circumstances he would appreciate it, but right now he's very much convinced that, wherever his life is at the moment, it's too far past the point where everything is as normal as it could be for a famous athlete.

Despite what he does for a living, Viktor is not very fond of large crowds. He especially hates the kind that prods and examines him as if he were a property of the public, sometimes with hands and other times with invasive questions, so he savors such moments whenever they come. In stressful times, usually before school examinations or Quidditch season, he often finds himself in Muggle Sofia where no one knows who he is. One would think he'd lead a calmer life in his own country, but in reality it's a lot more hectic because at home he's more than just a great Quidditch player. He's a prodigy, a national icon, and the sole heir to one of the oldest wizarding families in Bulgaria.

He turns heads everywhere he goes. Witches and wizards of all ages recognize him. They always have a thing or two to say to him, and those with cameras will snap a picture he had originally politely declined to. It's the price he had to pay for doing the thing he loves. He had come to accept it a long time ago, and sometimes when his fans are civil and polite he allows his ego to absorb it, but most of the time he'd rather have solitude.

So why does it bother him now, when one of thousands doesn't notice him entering or leaving the library? Why does he care if she doesn't turn to look at him when he walks past her desk to browse the shelves behind her, and why does he keep returning to the library in the first place? Karkaroff had taken his golden egg, much to his chagrin, and insisted on solving the riddle himself. He had no further need for books, at least not for now.

That's not even the worst of it. The real, big question is what compels him to always hover around her like some bird of prey, without ever saying a word, hoping and waiting every single afternoon for her to notice him?

He couldn't keep denying it. He was too old to feign boyhood ignorance. The truth is simple and clear, this peculiar witch fascinates him. He admires her dedication to her studies, for as of yet he has never seen any other student of either three schools working nearly as hard as she does, and more than anything he admires her intelligence and natural affinity with magic.

 _How funny is it that the one girl you want doesn't want you?_

He was quick to shut that thought away. He doesn't know that for sure. Even if she's not seeing him now, unless if she says it herself he's still got a chance. He would've probably known by now had he actually approached her, but as much as he tried and as much as he _wanted_ to, he couldn't bring himself to do it. Insecurities he didn't know he had kept resurfacing.

Viktor is aware of his faults, of course, and he never really cared much about them as long as they didn't interfere with his performance. He was never desperate enough to deluded himself either. He knows he's not picture-perfect handsome. He knows that he really doesn't have much to offer to a witch besides his name, wealth, and fame. He doesn't exactly have a fun, laid back personality, and he reckons that if he didn't have a career in Quidditch he'd probably be an academic.

He would normally add intelligence to the good list of things he can offer, because he's also aware of his merits, but in this case the language barrier would contradict him. Besides, what if she's already got a boyfriend, and what if he happens to be the type that wouldn't appreciate her talking to other men? He wouldn't be surprised if it were the first, because surely a brilliant witch like her would've caught someone's attention by now, but the second seemed unlikely to be true. She didn't strike him as weak-willed, or that she'd let anyone tell her what to do with herself.

He doesn't expect anything from her anyway. He only wants to talk to her, and the few times he feels brave enough to try he finds her busy working with Harry Potter, occasionally accompanied by their other friend. He thought of pretending to greet Harry Potter in hopes of being introduced to her in the process but he's never actually spoken to the boy before, so the exchange would probably be awkward if not extremely suspicious. It might make her feel more inclined to ignore him, and that's the last thing he wants.

One time she had another redhead keeping her company. Her resemblance to Harry Potter's friend was uncanny, and she appeared slightly younger, so he assumed she's his sister.

 _How many siblings are there?_ His mind wondered briefly as he regarded her. She smirked at him in a friendly yet mischievous kind of way when she caught him staring. He scowled and hid his face in whatever book he was pretending to read, because he'll be damned if he let anyone see his cheeks reddening for any other reason besides exhaustion and the weather.

* * *

They were standing on deck for nearly forty minutes when Karkaroff finally decided to emerge from his cabin. His curling beard was peppered in crumbs he had either failed to notice or didn't care to brush off before delivering his speech.

His dark eyes studied all twenty men standing rigidly before him, all painfully aware of their sore backs and legs but not daring enough to complain. It was all protocol, after all, demanded especially when the Headmaster calls for an assembly, and during the forty minute wait Viktor came to the conclusion that he hates it here just as much as he did in Durmstrang.

" _I presume you all know how to dance?"_ said Karkaroff, shooting nasty looks at any boy that dared look uncertain. " _I expect no less from such respective families, and especially not from Durmstrang's finest."_ He paused and flashed a toothy grin in Viktor's general direction before he started pacing again. " _Nevertheless, you're all very young men, some better and smarter than others,"_ again he grinned at Viktor, " _but still young, foolish, and of far better lineage than what our hosts and their guests have to offer. I considered bringing more girls from Durmstrang to avoid this, of course, but knowing Albus he'll insist on having them mingle with Hogwarts' boys to, ah, strengthen school bonds!"_ he looked revolted by the idea, and as if he'd forgotten that twenty students could hear him better than several hundreds, he added in an undertone: _"Utter nonsense! I'd rather take the risk with twenty boys than with one girl who might soil herself with some mud-"_

He stopped. He took a deep breath and an extra minute or two to compose himself, appearing more annoyed than concerned with his slip. Then again, Karkaroff was never that secretive about his rather controversial ideologies.

A slight movement at the end of the line caught Viktor's attention. He turned ever so slightly to not avert Karkaroff's attention from scolding Poliakoff for yawning and saw Ivanna, the only female student selected to participate from Durmstrang, standing at the end of the line closest to the railing. She had turned her glare from the Headmaster towards the lake.

Viktor wouldn't have blamed her if she had marched up to him and slapped him across the face for merely suggesting such a thing. It wasn't just Karkaroff's constant obsession about blood purity and prestige that had most parents transfer their children to different schools of lesser educational quality, but of the way in which he's constantly looking down on his own students. Throughout his time as Headmaster he had not only instilled fear, but encouraged it and awarded those better at inflicting it. His favorite target besides the weak were women, and not in the same way men were targeted.

There had always been tension between Ivanna and the Headmaster, mostly due to her constantly fighting her way to the top and succeeding despite all his efforts to discourage her, but since the Triwizard champions have been announced the tension intensified to such an extent that it became unbearable to stand within their vicinity.

She was very strong and ambitious, perhaps even more than Viktor, and she had fought tooth and nail to be selected for the voyage. She had succeeded despite Karkaroff banning women from participating altogether. She took everything he threw at her, every near-impossible challenge he purposely made much more difficult than that of male participants, and she took all his insults and constant degradation in silence just to fulfill her dream of becoming the Triwizard Champion.

At some point Karkaroff felt so threatened by her ambition he had half a mind to ban her altogether from placing her name in the Goblet of Fire, but it turns out that he really didn't need to trouble himself. The Goblet chose Viktor in the end.

She had immediately accused them both of foul play, instantly setting the Headmaster's temper alight, which was already beyond calming after he had just been forced to accept Harry Potter as Hogwarts' second champion.

" _If I could've controlled that damn Goblet Hogwarts wouldn't get a second champion, you stupid girl!"_ he had snarled, uncaring about the fact that for the first time her large eyes were brimming with angry tears. Instead he had her immediately put on a month long probation, which consisted of her doing manual labor on the ship without so much as a complaint or another slanderous word of him or Viktor, should she want to avoid being shipped back to Durmstrang and explain to her family and to the school board why she was back so early.

Viktor hadn't seen her since, and for a while he was happy not to come across her because the last thing he needed besides balancing schoolwork, the tournament's challenges, and his rivals was Ivanna raving at him over things he couldn't control. Now that he sees her gaunt face, thinning blonde hair, and tired, bloodshot blue eyes he couldn't help but feel responsible. She looked nothing like that when they first docked. He could've at least tried talking to Karkaroff…

" _The Yule Ball,"_ said Karkaroff, addressing them all now that he's done humiliating Poliakoff, diverting Viktor's attention back to the present. " _It is traditionally held to strengthen existing bonds between Europe's best wizarding schools. It is also an opportunity for each school to showcase their loyalty as well as their determination to keep these bonds as strong as they have been for centuries past and as strong as they will be for many more centuries to come, of course not only through the friendships of their Headmasters and Headmistresses but also through their own students' conduct outside the arena. Seeing as you can't_ all _take Ivanna,"_ here he made a sweeping gesture toward her side of the line, grinning at the few chuckles his suggestion induced, " _you'll have to mingle with the ladies from Beauxbatons and from Hogwarts._ "

Something strange happened then. There was a slight movement in their formation, a break of excited murmurs and exchanged grins. Viktor and Ivanna were the only ones who remained still, the first frowning slightly at the sudden, very unusual change and the latter still preoccupied with the lake. No student in Viktor's time at Durmstrang had ever broken formation with a mere blink during an assembly.

Contrary to popular belief, there are many female students at Durmstrang, of which many are pretty and impressive. The male students present have had relationships with those female students in the past, and they have definitely taken them to dances and balls and formal events. Viktor knew it wasn't their first time being around women, and yet the way they received the news made them look like they came from an all-boys school.

The Headmaster seemed to have noticed the change, and was more displeased than curious. He cleared his throat. They were instantly back in line, stone-faced and rigid as before, as if no change had just come on them.

" _Let me remind you that the girls you have no doubt already selected are even younger than you are,"_ he said, folding his hands behind his back as he paced before them, " _and they seem to be very much enamored with older foreign students. That makes them more vulnerable, foolish, and more likely to believe and act upon silly, unrealistic promises. Encouraging such radical behavior will lead to great, terrible consequences on your future as well as that of the young girls', and most importantly on myself as your Headmaster and on the school's prestigious name. I will only say this once, so hear me well."_

He then rounded on them, his face now loosing all its mirth and contorting into something as dangerous and sinister as his reputation. " _You are all to behave like perfect gentlemen and treat the ladies with utmost respect. If I so much as hear one complaint on any of you from whatever source, you will answer to me alone and it will be your greatest regret. Now I expect you all to attend the ball with suitable dates and appropriately dressed in your school's colors, because you are representing this school and not yourselves or even your champion. I will accept no excuses. You are obligated to make a proper attendance worthy of this school's name even if you are a breath away from death! Do I make myself clear?"_

" _Yes, Headmaster,"_ came the loud, collective reply.

He gave them a curt nod, his expression still dark and foreboding. " _Very well. You are dismissed- except for you, Ivanna and Viktor. Wait for me in my office. I have compiled a list of suitable young men and women for you to accompany and I would like to discuss them with you."_

There was a slight pause in which everyone stared at Ivanna, expecting her to lash out and rebel as she normally does, but instead she nodded and calmly made her up the stairs towards his cabin. All nineteen pairs of eyes followed her until she disappeared behind wooden doors.

Viktor approached Karkaroff as the remaining students dispersed either off or somewhere below deck.

" _May I have a word, Headmaster?"_ he said, nodding towards the rails and away from Karkaroff's office.

" _Of course, Viktor!"_ said Karkaroff, his expression warming but not in a way that conveyed affection. He ushered Viktor towards the stairs. " _No doubt you're curious about the egg? I haven't quite figured it out yet, but rest assured that I'll call for you as soon as I do. I wouldn't want to send in my own champion blind, now would I?"_ he threw his head back and laughed.

Viktor allowed himself a moment to glare at the floor. If the old fool would just give him the egg and stop treating him like an idiot he's certain he would've figured out the second task by now. He was supposed to figure it out on his own anyway, especially without his Headmaster's help, and if there wasn't a disqualification risk Viktor would've reported him to one of the ministry judges.

He shook his head and stopped just before his Headmaster took the first step on the stairs. Now is not the time to dwell on Karkaroff's incompetence, he decided.

" _Headmaster_ ," he said, firmly planting his feet as Karkaroff turned to look at him, one grey bushy eyebrow raised. He fought to keep his voice even and neutral. " _It's about the Ball. I have already found someone I'd like to take."_

" _Is that so?"_ much to his relief, Karkaroff grinned. " _And am I right to assume that this very lucky young lady is worthy of Durmstrang champion Viktor Krum?"_

He nodded, not trusting his voice after hearing that. He wasn't thinking of his many titles when his mind drifted towards her during Karkaroff's official announcement. It hadn't even occurred to him that she will likely be the center of attention as one of the champions' date, as that of none other than Viktor Krum himself should she say yes.

He hated Karkaroff for reminding him. Now he's worried she'll say No to avoid the hassle.

" _Excellent!"_ said Karkaroff, dismissing him with a wave as he turned towards the stairs. _"I'll trust you to take care of this on your own."_

He got Karkaroff off his back and that was definitely a good thing. Who knows what the old man had in store for him, or what sort of tragic fates now awaits Ivanna behind closed oak doors.

* * *

It became apparent to Viktor that his peers were definitely going through changes.

He thought it was the excitement of the Yule Ball presenting them with the opportunity to properly mingle with students from other schools, namely girls, without Karkaroff constantly breathing down their necks. He'd always find them with one or several students of Hogwarts and Beauxbatons, talking rapidly and laughing as if they've known each other for years. Most have already secured dates for the ball, and were now getting close and friendly with them. Viktor caught some of them boldly holding hands and strolling around the grounds, lounging in the courtyard, or leaving for the village nearby on weekends.

He couldn't help but envy them. How is it that they were able to not only ask them to the Ball but to also properly get to know them before the actual event when he, their _champion_ , hadn't even mustered up the courage to introduce himself to the girl he likes.

He was at a complete loss. He never had a problem speaking to women, so why is it that he can't say a word to this library-dwelling, book-hording girl? He did get himself on first name basis amongst _other_ things with a few before her and it wasn't this difficult, mostly because they had approached him first.

He was finally beginning to see the root of his problem. It was quite simple: he never had to ask, he never truly wanted to, and he didn't think he ever will.

He had offers, of course, mostly from his stalking fan club or from the few girls that managed to stop stuttering long enough to ask him to the Ball. It really just made things a lot more awkward than they already are. On the one hand he admired their courage because he couldn't find his, but on the other he had no interest in going with them. Some took his rejection rather well and laughed it off, while others disappeared from his sight.

At least his horde of fangirls was thinning. Perhaps if they grow small enough, or disappear altogether, he wouldn't have to leave the library early to get them to stop bothering her with their frantic whispers and giggling.

" _Viktor!"_

He was strolling along the nearly-empty grounds late in the afternoon with only his thoughts occupying his mind when Poliakoff found him, apparently having just returned from the village. He hesitated, then stopped to allow Poliakoff to catch up with him.

Throughout their time together in Durmstrang, particularly since Viktor started playing in international stadiums, Poliakoff had never so much as looked his way before. Viktor always felt that Poliakoff was too intimidated by him, because the few times he tried talking to him the boy would immediately start stuttering incoherently and look around for the fastest exit route.

It took a while for Poliakoff to gather his breath.

" _Look at what I got!"_ he said once he stopped panting, his face still flushed and grinning as he pulled out a small, red-and-white striped box. Viktor looked at the bold black writing against the bright yellow banner. _Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans,_ it read.

" _Flavored beans_?" he said, looking up at Poliakoff's eager face with a raised eyebrow.

" _All kinds of flavored beans!"_ He replied, flinging his arms in excitement and nearly emptying all of the box's contents on the grass. " _It's ingenious! I just had strawberry, dirt, and grass. Alphonse couldn't try another after a vomit flavored one, and before him Markus had troll bogey-"_

" _Why would you eat that?"_ Viktor cut him off mid-ramble, now looking at the box with disgust. " _Why would anyone invest in such flavors?"_

Poliakoff shrugged, his excitement about his purchase still unhinged. " _It's fun to have with friends, I suppose."_ He then pushed the box towards him. " _Would you like to try? There aren't much left now as I've got nearly everyone to try, but the remaining colors look promising. You might get a strawberry peanut butter ice-cream. I hear that flavor is supposed to be really good."_

Viktor looked from the box to its owner, suddenly suspicious and uncomfortable with his sudden ease. He briefly considered asking him if one of the flavors happened to be alcoholic, and if he had perhaps took more than he should. Poliakoff, on the other hand, seemed blissfully unaware of Viktor's discomfort or of his general revulsion of the product he was offering him. He was smiling as if they had done this many times before.

He shook the box at him. " _Everyone tried, Viktor. You're our champion, you can't say No. What would the others think?"_

It was more of a friendly jab than an actual threat, and Viktor felt the need to comply. He reached for the box and grabbed one that felt small and smooth, praying for it to be anything but vomit. He popped it in his mouth and gave it a few thoughtful chews before spitting it out on the grass, sending Poliakoff into a laughing fit.

 _"_ _What did you get?"_ he asked.

" _Pebble,"_ said Viktor, glaring at the grey mangled jelly pieces on the grass. " _Why do I know that?_ "

Poliakoff shrugged. " _Perhaps they're enchanted?"_ he plopped a light pink bean in his mouth. " _Hmm_ … _tastes like salmon."_ his eyes widened and his smile dropped all of a sudden. For a moment Viktor thought that he had finally come to his senses and realized who he's been talking to, but then he swallowed with some difficulty and said: " _I'm allergic to salmon."_

"It's just a flavor."

" _Y-yes but I should still check with that Healer. My throat gets blocked and my face swells the size of a balloon-"_ he gasped. He then quickly grabbed his face with both hands and dropped the box and spilled its remaining contents in the process. His head wasn't swelling, and it didn't look like it was going to anytime soon, but his fear of his allergy might as well had him convinced that his head had become the size of a hot air balloon. He apologized hastily and sprinted towards the castle, still holding his head with both hands.

Viktor looked down at the spilled beans. He considered putting them back in the box and taking them to Poliakoff, but then thought better of it. They've caused enough trouble for one day.

* * *

Her usual desk was empty. It wasn't in the sense that it's unoccupied, because he'd recognize the mess of scrolls and books anywhere, but it was empty in the sense that she wasn't hunched over that mess scribbling away and muttering under her breath.

He looked at her empty chair with slight disappointment. It had taken him all afternoon to shake off his fan club. He had fully intended on finally asking her to the Ball, insecurities and Harry Potter and his friend all be damned. He had a book in his hand, too, one he grabbed randomly from one of the shelves on his way to her desk to use as means of escape should something go wrong.

Perhaps she was looking for a book somewhere. He glanced at the desks on either side of hers, but they were all full of students hard at work. He couldn't exactly go looking for her, because the library was massive enough to swallow her whole. She could be _anywhere_. It would take him all day if he were to scan every row, and by the time he's finished she'll probably have already left.

He turned around, thinking he'd browse the books on the shelves closer to her desk until she returns, when he nearly collided with her.

He couldn't help looking shocked if not a little guilty, not because he finally got caught, but because he hadn't realized until now when she stood so close to him how _small_ she really is. She was glaring up at him with her arms stiff by her side and a quill clutched like a sword in one hand, seemingly unaware or uncaring of the height difference.

There was no better word to describe her, she was absolutely _cute._ He couldn't stop staring, or even attempt to make an escape, and he really didn't need to because she wasn't going to let him try.

"Well?" She demanded, her brown eyes narrowed.

"Sorry," he said, tearing his eyes from hers and moving around her.

She easily and quickly intercepted him despite his long strides, then again he barely got a step ahead with a racing heart and legs as heavy as lead.

"Why are you following me?" She asked, folding her arms over her chest.

"I am not," he said, trying denial. "I am reading."

She raised a brow. She grabbed the book hanging loosely in his grip and turned it over to read the title. " _Modern Breast Enlargement Charms_?"

He flushed. "It's for friend."

She sighed and placed the book on a 'return' trolley that floated by. "Do you also watch me for this 'friend' of yours?"

He frowned, sensing a double meaning behind her phrase but unable to detect it.

"I don't understand," he said when he realized she wasn't going to point it out for him, looking bashful enough to gain a flickering sympathetic look. "Sorry. My English is bad."

"Oh. It's alright," she said, looking uncertain for a moment before quickly strengthening her resolve. "Did Karkaroff send you to spy on Harry?"

"No need to spy. _I_ don't need Harry Potter to win," he said, growing a little irritated at the suggestion despite himself, "Fleur, maybe."

The corner of her lips twitched upwards. He felt hope despite the rather disastrous turn of events.

"How do I know you're not lying?" she asked, once again blocking his path. "How do I know Karkaroff didn't tell you what to say in case you get caught?"

He thought about it for a while, taking his time mostly to calm himself. He can't help taking offense at her suggestions but at the same time he understood where they were coming from. Her friend is in mortal danger because of the people Karkaroff was associated with in the past, and she doesn't exactly know anything about Viktor. She's probably only seen him either on his own or with Karkaroff.

He pushed the sleeves of his sweater to his elbows and stretched both arms in the space between them, turning them over so that his pale wrists were exposed to her. She leaned closer to stare at the unmarked skin of his wrists, tilting her head slightly and squinting her eyes as if expecting to see something in small print. Again he couldn't help but admire her now that she's so close to him. He couldn't stop himself making mental notes of how her nose scrunches up when she's thinking hard about something, or how her eyebrows knit ever so slightly, how her teeth gently probe her lower lip, the curls that bounce over her shoulders…

It took him a few seconds too late, mostly because she had suddenly withdrawn, to notice that she had just realized what his gesture meant. She was now regarding him with widened eyes and a mortified expression on her face.

"Of-of course not!" She gasped, stepping back and placing a hand on her chest. "I hadn't meant… obviously you can't be a- a Death Eater, you're too young! You weren't even here when- when- when You Know Who was defeated! I wouldn't _ever_ accuse you of being a part of such a hateful, murderous cult, even if Karkaroff– at least not without proof! I was talking about the _tournament_!"

She placed her hands over her face and uttered a disgruntled cry when her stuttered words kept merging and stopped making sense even to the native English speaker. She walked to her desk and leaned towards it, the hand holding the quill fisted and pressed against the surface as the other ran through her bushy mane, her mind whirring still and as clustered as the space before her. Viktor slowly lowered his arms and considered leaving now that his path is finally clear, but his feet were as glued to the ground as his eyes were on her.

He didn't have the heart to leave her agitated and mortified, especially when it was his fault she got to that state.

She spun around to face him again, her expression anxious and her voice rising to a shrill. "Why do you keep staring at me like that?"

"You are very beautiful," he said, his voice calm despite the onslaught of emotions.

"What?"

"You ask why I watch," he said. "Answer is because you are very beautiful."

She stared at him. The only indication that she had heard and understood what he said were her pink cheeks.

He cleared his throat and bowed, finally tearing his eyes from hers. "I am sorry I scared you. I will go."

He then turned and walked away from her. He kept his face clear and his pace slow as he made his way towards the exit, trying his best to ignore his mind's nonstop ' _stupid, stupid, stupid'_ chants. He didn't want to think about how embarrassed he felt or that he still couldn't accomplish something as simple as asking a girl to a ball despite all his past achievements and fancy titles.

He hadn't realized that she was trying to catch up with him until she barely managed to stop him by the door, looking winded and flushed from all the running.

"You didn't scare me," she said, still trying to catch her breath. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you and made all those horrible assumptions. It's obviously not your fault the Goblet selected you, or that it selected Harry in the first place, and it's definitely not your fault your fans are inconsiderate and loud in the library of all places. You have every right to use the library, so please don't feel discouraged because of the things I said. I just…if you want to, next time please just say Hello."

He felt the corner of his mouth quirking. "Hello."

She smiled at him for the first time and his heart leapt.

"Hello," she said. She hesitated before extending her hand. "I'm Hermione Granger."

"Viktor Krum," he replied, staring at her small hand for a beat before taking it in his large one and bringing it to his lips in the traditional Durmstrang manner, prompting the appearance of more pink spots on her cheeks.

"I know," she said absently, allowing her hand to linger in his as she regarded him in a way that suggested she had expected an entirely different response, and that perhaps she wasn't all too disappointed in being wrong.

* * *

Karkaroff seemed to be in a really good mood that evening. For starters, Viktor was no longer on that ridiculous, 'nutritious' diet he was forced to follow after the first task, and to celebrate he helped himself to seconds and thirds in addition to too many wine refills. Ivanna was also joining them on the Slytherin table for the very first time since her probation, looking sullen but still helping herself to a generous portion.

His side of the table was alight with friendly conversations between his schoolmates and the Slytherins, but he hardly spared them a word or a nod whenever his name was brought up. He had caught a pair of brown eyes staring at him from across the hall and couldn't possibly think of anything more interesting to focus on, and when he caught her several more times afterwards he forgot his surroundings.

Before he knew it he had turned it into a game. He'd smile or wink every time he'd catch her staring, making her swiftly turn away and blush scarlet. She'd scowl at her plate and then allow herself a small smile when she thinks he's not watching, and for every smile he'd catch he rewards himself with another goblet of wine. He was enjoying their game too much to care if anyone takes note of his odd behavior, or even if he ends up stumbling to his bed with a killer hangover waiting for him in the morning.

He was struggling to decide if it was the wine fogging his judgment or the knowledge that her eyes were knowingly seeking his.


	4. Chapter 4

"Pride."

"Try again!"

"Gift of the griffin."

"Wrong!" she sang, leaning back against her pillows and giggling, sending violent ripples through the ruffles of her silky pink dress. "Come now, dear, surely you wouldn't expect _me_ to come up with something so… _cliché_?"

He shrugged. "You will not give me hint."

"Sorry, can't help it!" she said, not sounding the least bit apologetic. "Now if you absolutely must disturb my beauty sleep every night please do so with more creative guesses, otherwise stop wasting my time and go back to your ship."

"I am sorry," he said, startling her with his sincerity coupled with a bow. "I will try harder tomorrow."

She nervously fiddled with her round, short fingers. She glanced sideways at nearby portraits and their sleeping occupants, and when she felt it was safe she leaned forward in her portrait and beckoned Viktor to approach her. He complied by leaning closer and turning his head sideways so that his ear was closest to her mouth.

"Alright, I'll give you one– _just one!_ –hint." She whispered, nervously glancing sideways again. "It's got nothing to do with Godric Gryffindor or the occupants of his House. In fact, it's the very last thing you'd associate with a man of his caliber."

He stepped back and glared at her. "Give me better hint."

"I will not!" she huffed, spreading her fan in the same sharp manner one would draw a sword. "Be thankful that I gave you a single hint in the first place, boy! I only did it because you were persistent and polite, or so I thought you were polite until–"

"I am sorry."

"You stop that!"

"I upset you."

"No, you–! Well, yes, alright, you did upset me but only because–"

"I will go."

" _Will you stop interrupting me!"_

"Just let the bloody foreigner in!" said an old, grumpy looking monk in a small portrait hung three frames to the Fat Lady's right. "Some of us are trying to sleep!"

Viktor turned his lit wand towards him. The monk was bald save for a small puff of white hair on the top of his head. He had thick grey eyebrows, small, deep-set eyes, and a mouth set on a permanent frown.

"And put that damn thing out!" he snapped at Viktor when the light hit his eyes, and then to the Fat Lady: "You either let the boy in or I call Filch!"

"You know I can't do that, Harold!" said the Fat Lady irritably. "What would the Headmaster say?"

"Fine then, I'm calling Filch!" He got up from his chair with some difficulty, grumbling and saying things that didn't sound very polite. "Put the fear of God in you, Filch will!" He turned to Viktor before departing to a nearby portrait, his glare still fixed in place. "Boy, you stay where you are!"

"Ok, I will wait here," said Viktor. He never found out what a Filch was anyway.

Harold paused to look at Viktor suspiciously before shaking his head and storming off, leaving nothing but a blank canvas behind.

"What are you still doing here?" hissed the Fat Lady, now panicked. "Go. Go _now_ , before that nasty little man gets here!"

"Filch is a man?" He asked, feeling somewhat disappointed. He had really hoped it'd be an English monster of some sorts, though a big part of him had guessed that Filch is most likely a man.

"It's the cat you should look out for, dear," said an old lady that appeared shortly in the monk's empty frame. "She's more dangerous, I reckon, as she's the one always reporting everything and alerting Filch to whatever it is the students' are not supposed to be doing." She had a kind voice but spoke without really looking at him. She seemed to be searching for something in the monk's portrait. "Has anyone seen my slippers?"

" _Go!"_ hissed the Fat Lady again, glancing nervously around. "You really don't want him to catch you here at this hour! Let me assure you that he's quite fast on his feet."

"I'm not scared," said Viktor, scoffing. "I'm fastest Seeker in the world."

"That's all nice and lovely, dear, but how fast are you on your feet?"

Viktor averted his eyes, feeling his pride in his skills on a broom quickly seeping out of him. "You make good point. I will leave."

"Yes, yes, go!" she was waving him off with her fan, looking towards where the monk had disappeared. "Quickly, I think I hear Harold coming!"

"Thank you for hint." He flicked his wand and everything immediately turned to black. "I will try again tomorrow."

" _No!"_ she shrieked, now on her feet smacked against the canvas with her cheek, breasts, and palms flattened as if pressed by glass, staring horrorstruck down the moving staircase where his footsteps retreated. The frame gave a dangerous creak but she didn't care. "Are you out of your mind? One of these days you will get caught and it will be someone worse than Filch and _then_ you'll be sorry!"

* * *

Poliakoff was so immersed in his book that he hardly touched his food. Viktor watched him as he knocked his full goblet over the edge and onto Markus's lap.

" _What the fuck, Poliakoff!"_ growled Markus, a large boy with a flair for breaking bones and second-degree burns.

Poliakoff was still too busy with his book to notice Markus's glare or the rounds of laughter his antics had once again induced. What made it even more comical was his hand still groping the table for his missing goblet.

Markus took out his wand and cleaned his stained pants with a flick. He then snatched the book from Poliakoff's hands and used it to thump him in the back of his head with all his might. Such force from someone as brawny as Markus would normally warrant brain damage for someone as skinny as Poliakoff, but he seemed to have been born was a rather thick skull as he merely staggered forward and just barely managed to keep his face from slamming into his plate.

Markus shoved the book hard into Poliakoff's chest when he sat up straight. " _You're lucky the school staff are watching."_

Poliakoff stared at Markus as he continued swearing under his breath and refilling his plate in an unnecessarily aggressive manner. If he hadn't blinked and tightened his hold on his book Viktor would've thought that someone Stunned him.

" _What did I do?"_ he asked, glancing at the others for help.

It was then Viktor caught the title of his book. He was about to ask when Ivanna slid into the empty space next to him and started filing her plate with whatever was left of the lunch menu. He couldn't help but suspect her motives, however innocent and casual they appeared, because as far as he knows Ivanna hates him and would rather chop a limb or two than sit anywhere near him.

" _If you want to brush up on your English I'd suggest talking to someone outside Durmstrang. You're in an English speaking country, you know,"_ she said, nodding towards the book clutched to his chest, giving just the slightest hint of an amused smile. " _Besides, I thought you were already very good at it– excellent, in fact, since Karkaroff insisted on you coming when you had no interest in participating."_

 _Insisted_ was definitely putting it gently, thought Viktor, as Karkaroff pretty much dragged the boy from the scruff of his neck and onto the ship.

" _Well, I wouldn't say I'm having trouble with the language or the people here,"_ he said, absently stroking the leathery spine. " _They're all quite nice, aren't they? It's just–"_ He stopped and averted his eyes, his cheeks reddening under Ivanna's scrutinizing stare. " _It's my date for the ball. She speaks English but I can't seem to understand what she's saying."_

Markus guffawed. " _Landed yourself a slobbering daft one, then? Would no one else go with you?"_

Ivanna shot him a glare. Poliakoff looked as equally upset, but he didn't dare lift his eyes from his plate.

" _She's actually very smart,"_ he said, quietly but defiantly. " _She's in Ravenclaw and that's where the smartest students are, Markus."_

Viktor glanced at the Ravenclaw table, which was shared with the Beauxbatons students. He had always wondered why they choose to sit in that particular table. 

" _Is that what she told you?"_ snorted Markus.

Poliakoff ignored him. " _She's really nice, if not a little strange. To be honest, I wasn't actually going to ask her because she seemed really young, but then she asked me and I just couldn't say No. She really wanted to go and I thought, you know, why not? She's actually really pretty."_ He then opened his book and started from where he left off, muttering to himself: _"I just wish I can understand what she's talking about."_

 _"_ _Ok then, that settles it. She's fine. It's you who is too stupid for her," said Markus._

 _"_ _How is your English, Markus?"_ asked Ivanna. _"Last I checked you made no sense whatsoever when you asked your date to the ball. To this day I can't tell if it were a great stroke of luck on your part that she happened to be fluent in Russian or that she wasn't getting any offers and had to settle for you."_

Markus turned purple with rage. " _You're one to talk, Morozova. Tell me, what idiot did Karkaroff make you beg?"_

The Durmstrang students within hearing range paused to look at them. Viktor himself couldn't help but look at Ivanna, who regarded Markus with an air of indifference as she chewed her food.

 _"_ _What makes you think I had to beg, or even ask in the first place?"_ she said, quirking an eyebrow. _"Unless if that's what you did, Markus. You do have a habit of projecting your own flaws and insecurities on the people around you."_

 _"_ _You really expect me to believe that someone actually asked the Cold Bitch to the Yule Ball?"_

 _"_ _You hurt me, Markus."_ she looked at him with the same kind of pity one would give an injured puppy. _"I really thought you'd strain your mind just a little to come up with a better insult for me, but if it is of any comfort to you I am a little insulted by the fact that you haven't even tried."_

Markus opened his mouth to retort but was cut off but someone clearing their throat behind Viktor and Ivanna. Viktor turned and saw a very tall, dark boy he was briefly introduced to on his first day. Although quiet and reserved, the boy did not melt into the background. He was far too handsome to be overlooked, with prominent cheekbones and slanting dark eyes conveying a crafty kind of intelligence, and he carried himself with an air of elegance that distinguished him from his peers.

Viktor wasn't sure what to make of him. He was polite enough the few times they spoke, but for some reason he found it very hard to trust him.

Ivanna smiled. Viktor realized that he hadn't actually seen her smile since she decided to go against Karkaroff and participate in the tournament.

"I need to talk to Viktor about something, but I won't take long," she said, placing her hand on his and stroking it with her thumb, rendering the men closest to her speechless. "Meet me outside?"

The boy nodded. Ivanna squeezed his hand and then turned back to the table. Viktor could've sworn he caught the slightest blush creeping on the boy's cheeks as he gave them all a curt nod and left the hall.

" _Viktor,"_ she said, now looking at him. Viktor braced himself for the insults and accusations he's sure were coming. " _Have you figured out the riddle of the egg?"_

He blinked. _"What riddle? Karkaroff didn't–"_

He stopped himself but it was too late. Ivanna was smart and she hated him and hated Karkaroff enough to make the connection.

 _"_ _How is it,"_ she said slowly, her fury from months past blazing in her eyes, _"that you expect me to believe that the Goblet chose_ you _when you can't even get past simple riddles on your own?"_

 _"_ _It's not safe to talk about things you don't know of,"_ he said, barely maintaining his temper at the accusation. _"I thought you have learned by now to not cause trouble when it's unnecessary."_

 _"_ _I'm not afraid of you or Karkaroff,"_ she said, narrowing her eyes. " _Tell me, did you buy your way into the national Quidditch team as well?"_

He bit back an insult his father warned about using in the presence of ladies. She made it sound like he had been scheming to make her miserable. He knew that she had wanted to be Seeker for the Vratsa Vultures after leaving Durmstrang, everyone who cared to listen knew, but contrary to popular belief he did not steal it from her. She was an excellent player and Viktor hardly played the sport in school. It was an accident, or pure luck as the tabloids liked to call it, that he was scouted and vouched for by the Captain himself when he was only fourteen years old.

He was living the dream but it came at a heavy price. He hated that for all her passion and talents she couldn't see past her animosity towards him and realize how great and fortunate she truly is.

He knew he was showing too much when Markus abruptly looked away and Poliakoff stared nervously between them and towards the staff table, his book forgotten. 

_"_ _Or perhaps you arranged for the Captain and the coach to be there when you performed your little stunt over St. Basil's?_ " she taunted, fueled rather than hushed by his anger. _"Don't bother answering that, because it's really my fault for putting some faith in you and Karkaroff. I should've known when I saw the egg in his office that you weren't even lifting a finger for this Tournament."_

 _"_ _That's enough, Ivanna," he warned under his breath._

 _"_ _You did something to that Goblet. It shouldn't have picked you, I was clearly the better candidate! I proved it last year in front of everyone and you didn't even have the grace to keep up with me."_

He abruptly rose to his feet, his wand out and his chair scrapping loudly on the floor. The half-emptied hall was silent, save for a few gasps and whispers. Ivanna had stood up at the same time but her wand was nowhere in sight. She seemed to have put all her faith in her usual defiant stance, despite Viktor easily towering over her with his wand clutched in his hand and something akin to murder in his black eyes.

 _"_ _Do it,"_ she said, her voice low enough for him to hear, _"be a good dog to your master and put me back in my place."_

 _"_ _Karkaroff!"_ hissed Poliakoff in warning, glancing anxiously at the staff table.

Viktor looked up and saw that everyone's eyes were on them, including those of the staff. Karkaroff had stood up. He was staring in their direction, the fake smiles and mirth he usually conjures during mealtimes for their hosts had vanished completely. He didn't have his own wand ready but Viktor knew that should his own fire out a single hex it'd be snapped in a heartbeat.

He didn't look at the others on the staff table. He wordlessly stuffed his wand back in his robe and stormed out of the hall.

He was a good distance away when Cedric caught up with him.

"What do you want?" he growled, whirling around to face him.

Cedric flinched at whatever he saw on his face. _Good,_ thought Viktor feeling a silver of victory.

"I, er, just wanted to check on you," he said, smiling nervously and stuffing his hands in his pockets. "She got you really worked up in there."

Viktor turned around and started walking again. He heard Cedric jogging after him.

"Whoa, hey, wait a minute!" he said, coming to a halt in front of Viktor and blocking his path. "I'm sorry, that wasn't very nice. You don't seem to be in the mood for company, and I understand that so I'll leave you alone, but before I do– really, mate, are you ok?"

Viktor took his time answering. Cedric looked genuinely concerned, and for a very brief moment Viktor was almost tempted to relieve himself of the stress caused by Ivanna and Karkaroff, but he quickly thought better of it. Whether or not Cedric was being sincere, he couldn't just speak freely to him about these things. He was still a rival.

He nodded. Cedric didn't look convinced but he didn't push it.

"Alright then," he said, stepping aside to allow Viktor passage. "I'll see you around, I guess."

Viktor was a few steps ahead when Cedric stopped him again.

"Hey, I just thought of something that might make you feel better!" he called, and as Viktor guessed when he turned around Cedric was grinning from ear to ear. Somehow he knew what was coming before he said: "Saw Granger in the library. She's all alone and she looked rather worked up over something."

"How is that supposed to help?"

Cedric shrugged. "Couldn't figure out what was upsetting her, so I thought you might have a better shot at it. I mean we did talk about the ball–"

"What did you say?" he cut in, realizing a second too late that he had cast aside his armor in a fleeting emotional fit.

Cedric's eyes widened briefly. A slow, knowing smile spread across his face and Viktor hated him for it. He hated that Cedric was better looking and more approachable than he'll ever be, and he hated himself even more for allowing his fear to take over his senses. It was uncalled for, considering that Cedric hadn't shown any interest in her before, but he still couldn't help but think that she'd have no reason to decline Cedric's invitation. Why should she, when she probably knew him better?

"Nothing much," said Cedric. "General stuff, you know?"

Viktor glared at him. He was doing it on purpose and it was making Viktor's wand hand twitch.

"She's kind of apprehensive about it. Barely wanted to say anything, which is weird considering that it's all the girls have been talking about lately," he said, looking thoughtful. "Anyway, as far as I know no one's asked her yet, but she _might've_ let slip that she's expecting a certain someone to step up. I couldn't get a name, of course, but I've got a hunch." He winked, giving Viktor that infuriating encouraging smile again. "Thought I'd let you know, in case you're interested."

He sighed. There was really no point denying it in front of Cedric anymore, but he'll be damned if he shows him exactly how happy that piece of information made him feel.

"Thank you," he said, quickly giving him his back and hurrying towards the library.

* * *

Her table wasn't in its usual cluttered mess, and if she hadn't been present he wouldn't have guessed that it was her usual desk. She only had four books this time, three stacked on top of each other on her left and one open at a random page in front of her, which was covered with a single sheet of parchment, and on her right a box full of badges.

She sighed and leaned her cheek against the hand holding her quill, holding up a single badge in her free hand and staring at it with a glum expression on her face. Viktor decided to approach her then. He took a deep breath and stepped away from the shadows of the high shelves, only to be distracted by a sharp intake of breath just as one of the floating return carts passed by, causing him to collide with it and to knock it over. It's contents, composed of the thickest volumes filling the cart to the rim, had spilled over with several loud, echoing thuds that drew startled gasps and squeals from students nearby. He cringed when he heard the metal cart itself scrapping loudly on the ground.

He didn't need to look up to know that all eyes were on him, because he really only cared about a particular pair of brown ones, but when he did look up he saw that she was on her feet staring at him with wide eyes and a hand over her heart. There was a thick streak of black on her cheek, which Viktor presumed was the result of startling her out of her thoughts while her quill's tip hovered close to her skin.

He felt his anger rising when he heard a collective burst of giggles from behind one of the bookshelves. He would give his entire inheritance to be permitted to hex those persistent girls into oblivion, manners and reputation be damned.

The angry clicks of the librarian's heels was fast approaching. He quickly hopped over the fallen cart and started to hastily pick up the many scattered books. Hermione shuffled around her desk and knelt beside to him on the ground and started gathering as many books as she can. He would've thanked her and insisted on doing it himself, but time wasn't on his side and he didn't have the strength for yet another row with the librarian.

"I have had it with you girls, enough is enough! Get out, all of you!" she scolded in a furious tone just barely above a whisper, and Viktor felt newfound respect despite previously harboring a low opinion of her. One of them tried to protest but was quickly cut off. "Don't you dare, young lady! You should consider yourselves lucky that I'm not banning you for life! Now _out,_ all of you, _get out!_ "

He chanced a glace at Hermione when he heard their retreating footsteps growing fainter. She wasn't looking at him but she had a faint, content smile on her face.

" _You!"_

He dropped the pile in his arms at the sound of the librarian's shrill voice directly behind him. He glanced behind his shoulders and saw her looking down at him with an expression that matched the anger she directed at his fangirls. Her bony hands were resting on her hips as her feet tapped impatiently on the ground.

"Get up," she demanded. He did without looking at Hermione. "I have warned you before, Mr. Krum, and allowed you to return despite my better judgment. I understand that I ought to be more considerate towards the champions, as they are no doubt under considerable amount of pressure, but I can no longer overlook this. The library is a sacred, _quiet_ space designed to help students study and ever since you've graced this castle you've done nothing but disrespect it. I'm sorry to say that I cannot allow you to return to the library anymore."

He blinked, his rage at the several injustices of the day blinding and white. "You are kicking me out?"

"Madam Pince, wait!" Hermione cut in, on her feet next to Viktor with several thick volumes cradled awkwardly in her arms, immediately putting his anger to rest. "I saw everything, it's really not his fault! It was an accident."

"Miss Granger!" she gasped, looking scandalized as her eyes moved between Viktor and Hermione. "I thought you were above such silly superficialities and celebrity-worship!"

Hermione sputtered, turning pink. "N-no! Of course not, I wouldn't– I don't even like–" She glanced at Viktor and quickly turned away when she saw him staring quizzically back at her. "Madam Pince, please, I'm only telling you what I saw!"

"And how can you be so sure of his innocence? It's not the first time he's disturbed the peace, you know!"

"It's not really his fault he's got exceptionally annoying fans," she said, quickly averting her eyes when the librarian narrowed hers suspiciously. "W-well, it's also because we agreed to come here and study together. Viktor got held back doing… something related to the tournament, of course, so I came here first because I didn't know how long he'd take."

She was pointedly avoiding Viktor's eyes. Madam Pince was staring between the two of them with a single thin eyebrow raised.

"He's older than you," she said, now looking at Viktor with an unpleasant expression that spelled the implications behind her words. Viktor looked back defiantly, silently daring her to voice her accusations because as far as he's concerned they're null and void. A three or four year difference was hardly an issue considering that her generation married girls Hermione's age to men his father's age.

Smart as Hermione is, the librarian's implications flew over her head. "Yes, well, I'm having a problem with Professor Moody's essay and I can't seem to find what I need here–"

"No surprise there!" said Madam Pince, rolling her eyes. "That man makes up his own curriculum as he goes along. I'll never understand why the Headmaster insists on keeping him!"

" –and since Viktor's from Durmstrang and in his final year, I thought he'd have more experience and knowledge on the Dark Arts so I asked him to help me. He was kind enough to make time for it in his otherwise busy schedule." She finished quickly, maintaining eye contact despite being clearly nervous.

Madam Pince did not look at all convinced, but for whatever reason she didn't press them any further. She nodded and said to Hermione: "Only because I trust you, Miss Granger." She then turned to Viktor with the usual sour face she saves for him. "Well, you know what to do with this mess!"

He glared at her retreating back before pulling up the fallen cart. He grabbed the pile in Hermione's arms and dumped them into the cart. The rest of the books were taken care of with a few flicks of his wand. The cart was once again full and levitating but it wasn't moving, and for a moment Viktor thought that he may have broken it until Hermione gave it a gentle nudge. They watched it float towards the end of the aisle and disappear between shelves.

"Thank you," he said after a while.

"You're welcome," she said, turning back to her desk. "Though I wouldn't really thank me if I were you as you'll now have to waste an hour or two pretending to help me with my Defense Against the Dark Arts essay."

"It's ok, I will help you if you want," he said, coming to stand behind the seat facing hers and gripping its back.

"Oh no, it's alright, you don't have to! I've already finished that essay."

He smiled. Of course she did. "I was looking for you."

"You were?" she asked, looking up at him from her seat, the single sheet of parchment held in one hand.

"I would like to have a word, if you're not busy."

"Yes, of course," she said, gesturing at the empty seat he was gripping. "I'm not busy with schoolwork now. This–" her eyes swept on the books and badges on the table and that same glum expression crossed her features again. " –this is sort of a side project. I was really hoping it'd be more than that by now, but I'm having a really hard time convincing people to join the cause."

He caught the letters on the badge between them as he slid into the seat facing hers, the one she was no doubt examining and dropped when he startled her earlier. "S.P.E.W?"

"Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare."

He picked up the badge and noticed her retreating the hand that was going to grab it first. She watched him nervously as he turned it over in his fingers, and he briefly wondered if people had given her grief over the topic rather than just ignore her.

"I know you think it's silly," she said at length. "I mean what do I know about elves, being a Muggle-born and all? My friends kept telling me that the elves are happy with the way things are, but I'd like to think that they've been _conditioned_ to believe that this is their worth and that they should be grateful to be owned by wizards. It makes more sense because when you think about it, they have been owned for centuries! That's hundreds of years worth of brainwashing, so you can't possibly assume that they're content by simply asking them if they are, or if they want to be free _now_ when their ancestors have been beaten to an inch of their lives for thinking it."

"I don't think it's silly," he said. "Just strange."

She narrowed her eyes. "So you think it's strange that elves deserve to be treated with respect, have paid leaves, days off, and the right to refuse serving a particularly cruel master?"

He shook his head. "You misunderstand. I am thinking it is strange that wizards make laws to protect dangerous creatures but don't care about their servants."

"That's the thing," she said, now with a softer tone, "they don't see house elves as their servants but as their slaves, or property that may be disposed of at will, and they'll never admit that it's actually a form of slavery! It's like they believe that the word 'slavery' is worse than turning a blind eye to a creature in pain when in fact it's all one and the same."

"And this… this S.P.E.W will change their mind?"

"Of course not," she snorted. "They don't see those poor creatures as living. It'd be like taking away their toys, but I don't care. I know one house elf that somehow managed to see through all the abuse inflicted on him from his previous masters, and he is now happy and free. He was actually the first to join the cause."

She passed him the piece of parchment, which he realized upon closer inspection to be a list. So far there were only four names, and he assumed that the 'Dobby' scribbled messily at the top is the name of the house elf in question. He noticed that Harry Potter had signed up as well, followed by a Ronald Weasley and a Neville Longbottom.

"Anyway," she continued, slipping the parchment from his hand, "since I can't change the wizarding world's perspective I thought I could inspire a rebellion from the elves themselves– a peaceful one, of course."

"It will not work."

"Why not? Surely they will once they realize their potential."

"Elves know they have better magic."

"Yes, but they've been made to believe that they're still worth less than wizards."

"Exactly, and wizards are arrogant. They will not listen to peaceful protests. The elves with masters will be punished, and maybe killed. They have to take their rights by force."

"Oh, but they won't!" she moaned. "They're too afraid, and too kind. They wouldn't ever hurt anyone intentionally, least of all their masters no matter how cruel they are towards them!"

"And wizards are not stupid. If a master thinks his elf is acting strange he can tell him to kill himself and the elf will do it. It's easy, and he will not be in trouble because house elves are not protected like unicorns or dragons."

"I-I suppose, yes," she said in a low voice, shivering visibly.

She had a worried, distracted look on her face as she stared at the box of badges, her mind likely struggling to come up with solutions to the problems Viktor presented her with. He was instantly regretting his words, because they were now causing her distress and he rather liked seeing her smiling instead.

His mother had always said that he's too blunt for his own good…

He took the parchment from her while she was distracted and announced: "I want to join."

She blinked, then shook her head. "Pardon?"

"I want to join," he said, scanning the desk for a quill and ink and finding hers cast between them. He reached for it and her eyes followed until his fingers brushed the tip of the feather before she leaped out of her seat and latched both hands onto his wrist to still him. "Hermy-own, I want to help."

"No, Viktor, you cant!" she gasped, preventing his hand from moving with some difficulty. "You're a guest here, and you're competing, if anyone finds out they might get the wrong impression and you would be in a lot of trouble! I can't possibly ask you to do that for me!"

"Let them know, it will be good for you," he argued, attempting to nudge his wrist free without hurting her. "My name will bring more support, Hermy-own. I have many fans here."

"I know, and I really appreciate the thought, but if you get caught– after the tournament!" she squealed when he caught on her hesitation and slipped free from her grasp to snatch her quill, leaving her momentarily fumbling with the quill's empty space in wake of his fast Snatcher reflexes. "Please, _please,_ Viktor, after the tournament! You can help me afterwards, I promise I won't stop you, in fact I'll– I'll introduce you to Dobby and the other house elves myself!"

Viktor paused, quill and parchment in hand, looking up at her pleading face with sudden interest. "There are elves here, in the castle?"

"Yes, they clean the castle and work in the kitchens," she said quickly, as if afraid that he'd change his mind if she were a second late, "but you'll have to wait as I went to see them about S.P.E.W a few nights ago and somehow offended them. I'll need to make it up to them first before bringing someone new, but I promise I'll take you there as soon as I can!"

He was going to sign his name anyway, despite being very curios about house elves, but he made the mistake of staring into her pleading eyes for too long. He returned her parchment and quill and she gave an audible sigh of relief.

"Thank you," she said, stuffing the parchment between the pages of one of her books. "For wanting to help, I mean. I think you're the first wizard that showed this much enthusiasm. Never mind that, you're actually the only one!" She laughed.

He smiled. _The only one._ It sounded nice.

She blushed under his lingering gaze and quickly lowered hers to her open book. "So you wanted to talk to me about something?"

He faltered at the approaching subject of his visit, suddenly and very obviously nervous despite Cedric's reassurance. She appeared confused at the sudden loss of his controlled demeanor but he chose to ignore that for the sake of the task ahead.

He swallowed. It was now or never. He forced himself to look into her eyes.

"I was actually wondering if you would like to go to the ball with me."

Silence, and then: " _Me?_ "

"Yes, I would like to take you," he said, his voice calm but his heart hammering. "If you want."

"What–? I don't understand, I– you're asking _me_ to the Yule Ball?" she stammered, her dumbfounded expression making it hard for him to discern her actual feelings towards the idea of being his date.

The next thing he knew he was making several embarrassing confessions despite his logic and her mounting shock dictating that it's definitely not a smart move in this particular situation, but once he started talking he found it very hard to stop.

"Yes, I think you are very beautiful and smart and I want to know you," he said, playing with the badge in his hands to keep them from flailing in tune with his speech. "I want to talk to you for a long time. I do not always need library, we have books from Durmstrang on ship, but I always see you here and I am thinking to talk to you someday but you're always busy with Potter or friend with red hair. I was… I was also afraid, but is ok if you want to go to the ball with someone else."

She was still gaping at him with the same incredulous look, her cheeks flaming the more he spoke, until finally she seemed to have found her voice. "What were you afraid of?"

Of all the things to pick up on…

"That you would not talk to me because I come from Durmstrang, and also because of Karkaroff."

She averted her eyes, slightly embarrassed at remembering their last encounter. "That's just ridiculous, you're not here to represent him or Durmstrang."

He frowned. "I am, for tournament."

"Yes, but you're not competing right now, are you?" she looked back at him with some difficulty and gave him a shy smile. "You're perfectly fine on your own, Viktor. I would love to go to the ball with you."

He was unmoving for a while, hardly believing his own ears, when a rare, wide smile broke across his face. She seemed taken aback by the sight, but pleased nonetheless guessing from the way she was staring at him.

"You know I never really paid attention to these things, but a smile really does make a difference," she said thoughtfully.

"You saying I have nice smile?" he teased, his playful grin rivaling Cedric's.

"No, I– yes, I mean– I just remembered something!" she jumped to her feet, blushing furiously and staring at a point over his head. "I need to grab a few books before Charms!"

He got up as well, his smile unfaltering. "I have to go as well, tournament stuff." He stepped closer as she packed away her books. She gasped when she turned around and nearly walked into him. "Before I go, I want to say thank you." He paused to give her a chance to reject it, and when she didn't move he took both her hands in his and brought them to his lips.

"Do they teach you to do that at Durmstrang?" she murmured, surprised once again but pleased still.

He nodded. "It was all-boys until twenty years ago, but etiquette classes are still necessary for first years. If you don't like it I will stop, of course."

"I don't mind!" she said quickly, then looked away shyly. "I mean, it's quite flattering."

He was still holding her hands. He brushed his thumb over her knuckles to test her reaction, but from the looks of it she didn't seem to mind. Feeling brave, he leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek, making her stiffen and turn an even brighter shade of red. He released her hands then, and she immediately brought one to her cheek and tenderly brushed her fingers over the spot he kissed.

"They don't teach us that in Durmstrang," he said, pleased with the outcome. "I wanted to try it. Is ok with you?"

She looked at him, as if truly seeing him for the first time, and nodded. She shook her head when he pushed the lone badge he was toying with towards her and gently pushed his hand back.

"You can keep it if you want," she said, holding the box of its replicas under her arm. "It's yours if it really means that much to you."

He stared at the badge resting on the center of his palm. His fingers closed on it.

* * *

Viktor came to the conclusion that coming to Karkaroff straight afterwards was a very bad idea. He had time to compose himself, but evidently it wasn't enough as the Headmaster was regarding him with extreme suspicion from behind his desk. He looked faintly irritated, which confused Viktor greatly as that kind of expression was only seen directed at Poliakoff.

He was happy that Hermione agreed to be his date for the ball, and that she liked his chaste kisses, but he would rather Karkaroff doesn't know about that just yet. For a moment he was worried that something might have slipped from his carefully composed mask, but then the Headmaster sighed.

" _Viktor, why is there ink on your mouth?_ "


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: can I just... hug each and every one of you beautiful people that reviewed/favoured/alerted this story? As of today this story has a 110 followers and 50 favourites. I don't have the right words to describe how I'm feeling right now, because I really didn't think I'd get this far with only four chapters in (or even with twenty chapters in, to be honest) and I'm still having a really hard time believing that over a 100 people are actually interested in what I have to write. I honestly can't thank you enough for all the love and support- Really, I can't! I wish you could just see my face right now! I was worried most about the previous chapter, especially the part where Viktor finally asks Hermione to the ball, because it's been done so many times already and I wanted it to be as close to cannon as possible without accidentally creating another replica, but I think I did well judging from your reaction!

Ahh, ok, I need to stop and let you read! Really, at this point I'm just rambling and thats no fun! But really, thank you. I continue to write by your support! As always, I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Also a friendly reminder that anything spoken in _italics_ is being said in Bulgarian.

* * *

He was caught by none other than Cedric Diggory.

Viktor cursed his luck. Of all the times to be wandering the castle aimlessly, brooding over thoughts that had taken root in his mind late at night, Diggory of all people had to be the one to catch him with his guard down.

He blames himself, mostly. He should've taken it as a sign and stopped when the cat caught him, but for some reason he thought it was a better idea to grab the dusty, lamp-eyed, squirming creature and resume his tour. He was rather exposed, too, sitting in a moonlit spot facing one of the larger windows in one of the corridors, his mind elsewhere as he turned the S.P.E.W badge over in his hands with Mrs. Norris wrapped tightly in his cloak beside him, hissing and glaring at him in a manner that indicated painful retribution should he free her of her bonds.

He hadn't realized Cedric was approaching him until he was a few feet away from him, and by the time he scrambled to his feet and grabbed the bundle that was Mrs. Norris it was too late.

" _Krum_?" he said, pointing his lit wand at him, his handsome face contorted into that of disbelief. Viktor braced himself, of what he wasn't sure, but he knew he was definitely in the wrong and he wasn't ready to admit defeat just yet. "What are you doing– Merlin's saggy left testicle, is that Mrs. Norris?"

His sudden change of demeanor and booming laughter caught Viktor off guard. He glanced at the squirming angry cat tucked under his arm and then back at Cedric, doubled over and gripping his sides and laughing. He wasn't sure if the other boy was laughing at the cuts on his arms or the cat's head poking out comically between the bundle of red or both.

"You, Krum, are a bloody goldmine!" He placed a hand on Viktor's shoulder, making him stiffen instantly, laughing still as he wiped a stray tear from his eye. "But you're really not allowed to be here–"

"You are here," he said defensively, shrugging Cedric's hand off his shoulder.

Cedric smiled and pointed at a badge on his chest. "Prefect," he said. It meant absolutely nothing to Viktor. "I should really escort you back to your ship. However–" his eyes landed on Mrs. Norris, glinting with amusement and something akin to admiration. "– you'll need those cuts taken care of and she'll need to be sedated before you release her, and I happen to have a little something for both. Now if you'll just follow me this way…"

Viktor looked down at Mrs. Norris. She looked torn between directing her anger at her original captor or at the prefect that is not doing his duty and demanding her release. He felt that if he were to release her in that state he'd definitely get more than a few scratches on his arms, so he reluctantly followed Cedric towards the end of the corridor.

They passed the Fat Lady on their descend and Viktor briefly wondered if that's where they were headed, but when Cedric passed by the portrait without so much as a glance he paused and contemplated asking Cedric if he happened to know the password.

"You and Granger are past first-name basis already?" he said from a few steps below, grinning.

Viktor quickly looked away from the snoozing Lady to glare down at Cedric. He couldn't really deny it considering that they've always been on first-name basis, but he still wasn't going to outright confess to Cedric and watch that infuriating grin grow any bigger. He straightened his back and marched past Cedric even though he had no idea where he was going, but a moment later Cedric thankfully caught up with him.

They walked in silence for the most part, once Cedric stopped smiling to himself for all the reasons Viktor chose not to think about. They stopped at the basement and Cedric lead him down one of the dimly lit corridors. They came to a halt at a nook were several barrels were stacked on top of each other. Cedric then took out his wand and tapped two barrels in the middle of the second row a couple of times. Viktor thought it sounded like some kind of a rhythm, but Cedric moved too fast and by the time he tucked his wand back into his robes a passage had already been revealed behind the lid of one of the barrels.

"After you," said Cedric, stepping aside.

Viktor stared uncertainly at the dark tunnel. Cedric nodded encouragingly. He secured Mrs. Norris under his arm and crawled through, and a moment later he heard Cedric crawling in behind him and the barrel's lid swinging shut. The room that came into view was circular, low-ceilinged, and very warm and cozy. It was practically washed in yellow, black, and brass, save for the green of the many exotic plants that inhibited the room. He saw rectangular windows at the very top giving him glimpses of the grass outside as well as the stars.

"What is this place?" he asked when Cedric crawled out behind him.

"Hufflepuff common room," he said, easing the still-yowling Mrs. Norris from Viktor's grip. "It looks better during the day, though, especially when the sun is bright and the skies are clear. Please, have a seat. I'll take care of her and get you something for your cuts."

Viktor chose one of the overstuffed couches by the fireplace. Cedric disappeared behind a wooden door and a moment later Viktor heard very angry hisses coming from Mrs. Norris, the sound of glass clinking and then breaking, and a few curses from Cedric who sounded like he was struggling with the newly freed cat.

Viktor was staring into the dying flames of the fireplace, once again deep in thought and absently toying with the badge, when Cedric finally returned with a jar of bright green serum and Mrs. Norris slumped in one arm with Viktor's cloak only loosely enveloping her. Her eyes were glazed over and she was purring contentedly as her stubby tail swished lazily behind her. Cedric placed her gently on the table between them along with the jar, and Viktor immediately noticed the thin angry slashes on the back of his hand.

He grinned sheepishly. "Yea, she got me, too." He unscrewed the lid of the jar and dipped his finger into the serum and dabbed it on the cuts. "Pure Hufflepuff concoction right there. We keep a stash around for those of us with especially moody cats. It's ingredients are cheap and easy to find, and it's easy enough for first years to make. It works great but the smell is pretty strong, and you've got a lot cuts so I reckon it'll stick with you for a few days."

It didn't take long for the smell to reach Viktor. Freshly mowed grass. He liked it. It reminded him of Quidditch pitch and long solitary practice sessions in large empty stadiums.

Cedric smiled when he caught the badge in Viktor's hand. "Don't tell me you had to sign up for her society to get her to say Yes?"

He shoved the badge back in his pocket and started dabbing the serum on his cuts. "Your hunch was wrong," he said after a while, casually as if commenting on the weather.

Cedric frowned. "She said No?"

"She said Yes."

"Well then, that's fantastic! How does it make me wrong?"

He paused, tending to his cuts with extra time and care as he thought of how to word his thoughts. "She is wanting someone else to take her. She was very surprised I asked."

He didn't realize it at the time because he had been so happy with how things turned out, but then when he was lying on his bed days later replaying the events in his mind from when Cedric stopped him in the corridor all the way to his kiss on her cheek he realized that something was amiss. Cedric had hinted that she was hoping or waiting for Viktor to ask her to the ball, and yet when he did she was shocked and flustered and uncertain before she finally said Yes.

He tried not to think about it, to convince himself that he's simply overthinking things, that she might've hoped but never thought he'd actually ask, but he's observed her for a good period of time and she's shown no interest in his fame and had hardly brought up anything to do with Quidditch. In fact it was one of many things that attracted him to her, her indifference to his celebrity status.

It soured his mood considerably. He stopped going to the library, he avoided looking at her during mealtimes, and he hardly paid any mind to the egg's riddle scribbled on a small piece of parchment and folded on his nightstand. His anticipation for the ball turned to dread as he kept picturing them together, him trying to give her the best night of her life and she frantically searching the halls for someone else.

"I'm really sorry, mate, I didn't know," said Cedric. He had a sympathetic, guilty look on his face. Viktor ignored it and busied himself with screwing the lid of the jar shut. "You see, Granger never really showed interest in anything besides her studies, as far as I'm aware of, and you've been sort of around her and then she accidently drops a hint and I thought…I don't know… I'm really, really sorry."

Viktor shrugged. He didn't really think it was his fault, he just didn't want to talk about it anymore. They stayed quiet for a while. Viktor was staring into the fire while Cedric fidgeted uncomfortably next to him.

"Alright, but here's the thing," said Cedric, optimistic again but failing to hide the bit of doubt. "She still said Yes. That's got to mean something, right? Granger doesn't really strike me as the kind of person who'd do things she doesn't want to do, so if she _really_ didn't want to go with you she would've just told you, but she said _yes_ so she's got to like you to a certain extent!"

"As friend," he deadpanned, and refrained from adding _or someone she feels sorry for._

"Ok, that's a start! Look, whoever the bloke she was waiting for may be, he had loads of opportunities to make his move but he didn't. I haven't the foggiest idea who he might be, or what his deal with Granger is, but from the way I see it he's just done you a great service."

Viktor frowned. "How?"

"Balls are quite magical, you know," he said, grinning, "and this one in particular will be hosted by witches and wizards in one of the most magical places in the country. All that's left is for you to sweep her off her feet, and I can't imagine that to be difficult for you."

Viktor resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He made it sound too simple, too easy, when the girl in question didn't care at all about his fame and when he hardly believed he possessed the qualities of the ultimate knight in shining armor.

"Doesn't matter," he said, glaring at Cedric for making him repeat it out loud a second time. "She does not care about Quidditch or championship. She is wanting someone else."

"Change her mind, then," said Cedric. "Show her a great time and make her forget about the sorry git that failed to see her the way she wants to be seen. It's not that complicated." He added quickly just as Viktor was about to argue. "Feelings change, mate, and so do people. All you've got to do is try."

Viktor didn't say anything. Cedric was right, feelings and people change. Viktor himself was changing, whether as an overall individual or towards a specific person, he didn't know, but he knows it frightens him sometimes. That he had been on the verge of giving up on Hermione struck him hard, and he hates that he needed a pep talk from Cedric to see it.

It was very unlike him to give up so easily. Then again, Hermione wasn't a trophy to be won. She was a very unique individual that he cared for. He wasn't going to compete for her and eliminate her admirers like some entitled barbarian, he was simply going to add himself to her list of options. He will offer himself to her like a sacrificial lamb, cut himself open for her to inspect at will, and leave her to decide on her own whether she wants anything more to do with him.

He looked up when Cedric returned from the room where he sedated Mrs. Norris and brought the serum, having probably returned it while Viktor was thinking over his words.

"Why help me?" he suddenly asked. "We are rivals."

Cedric didn't look surprised. He smiled as if he were expecting him to ask that question for a long time. "Look, I get it. When it comes to the tournament it's every man for himself– or woman, I guess, in Fleur's case. I just don't see why we have to have a go at each other outside the arena when our world is already divided, when really the whole point of this thing is to bring the three schools closer but instead it seems to be dividing us even more. I don't want to be a part of that."

"Then why put your name?" he asked, not in a challenging or accusatory tone.

"Ok, so I do want the glory and grand prize and all that," he said, chuckling sheepishly, "but I don't want it if it'll cost me my friends. It just wouldn't be worth it, you know?"

Viktor nodded, though he didn't really understand it himself. He strived to win because he's never really had any friends to loose, so the concept was very foreign yet very appealing to him.

"Also," he added, this time hesitantly, "I don't really know what Durmstrang is like, but everyone here at Hogwarts is guaranteed a great time. You just look so miserable, mate, and I know it's not a Durmstrang thing because your classmates are doing alright, and Granger… I don't know what it is she's doing, but whatever it is it's working magnificently on you. I just want you to enjoy your time here, but every time I try I end up annoying you or being of inconvenience, so I thought I'd make up for it by putting you and Granger together." He smiled. "And I'd like to think that I was right in doing so, seeing you now compared to when you first arrived."

Viktor stared long and hard at the younger boy. He suddenly found it hard to argue with him, to correct him and say that it's his fame making it more difficult for him to blend in crowds as opposed to his peers that have already integrated themselves into several groups made of Beauxbatons and Hogwarts students. He was deeply touched by the sentiment but he didn't know how to express it, for no one really tried to include him before because he was always deemed above and superior and intimidating, so he did the only thing he could think of doing amidst the whirlwind of new emotions and the ticking of time.

"Thank you."

* * *

Poliakoff looked up just as Viktor was about to knock on the open door of his shared room, smiling and putting his book down. " _You smell nice. New cologne?"_

Viktor cleared his throat, feeling a little awkward and unsure of how to respond to the compliment. He had taken a shower after returning from the castle and then another before heading for breakfast but the smell of Cedric's serum was stuck on him like glue, and although he liked it, it was still turning more heads than usual and it was starting to make him feel uncomfortable.

He hesitated. He's never really asked for anything from Poliakoff before.

 _"_ _The English book you were reading the other day at lunch,"_ said Viktor, choosing to linger by the doorway, " _I was wondering if you could tell me where you got it from, as I can't find it in the library on deck."_

 _"_ _I got it from a bookshop in the village,"_ he said. _"You really should go down there sometimes, Viktor, it's something entirely different. Anyway, you can have my book if you want."_ He pulled the drawer of his nightstand and pulled out the book in question. " _It's pretty useless– for me, I mean."_ He sighed dejectedly. _"Maybe I should just tell her that I'm having a hard time keeping up with her… or simply ask her what exactly is a Nargle."_

 _"_ _What?"_

 _"_ _You tell me,"_ Poliakoff snorted, offering him the book. He then looked hopeful. _"Would you… would you happen to know?"_

Viktor wasn't even sure if he was speaking a language developed by humans. He shook his head and accepted the book from his offering hand. _"Good luck."_

* * *

Hermione was in such a bad mood when he found her in the library that she barely listened to any of his compliments and brushed off most of his attempts at starting a conversation. He tried convincing himself that she was simply stressed over schoolwork or S.P.E.W or the ball or all three at once, but he couldn't help but worry that she had regretted saying Yes to his invitation and is now looking for a way out.

He still can't decide which would hurt most, her grudgingly waiting out the days until she's done with him or simply telling him that she had a change of heart.

He kept thinking of her initial reaction to his approach to keep calm. She had scrunched up her nose and looked up before he could announce his presence, though from the looks of it Cedric's serum obviously did it for him. She then smiled and offered him the same seat facing hers before he could even ask for it, and made a polite comment about his smell and asked if he had just returned from the Quidditch pitch.

That is, of course, assuming that she actually liked the smell and wasn't just trying to be polite…

He then quickly tried to distract himself with his own work, but he'd already finished most of his school assignments a week early to have more free time to spend with Hermione, and he had also already solved the egg's riddle. It was quite straightforward, something valuable of his will be stolen and hidden at the bottom of the lake and he'll have an hour to retrieve it. He didn't really need to read up on any aquatic creatures, as the thief is most likely (most _definitely_ ) a mermaid, but he felt like he needed an excuse to be there otherwise he'll just further annoy her by aimlessly hovering about her when she was already dreading spending an entire evening with him when she'd rather–

 _You don't know that._

Right, he doesn't. She hasn't been snappy and unpleasant, just distracted. He was simply being paranoid.

Time and time again, against his own will, his eyes wandered from the words on his book to her face. She finally caught him when he lingered too long.

"You are upset," he said, giving up on his book altogether and setting it aside. "Why?"

"It's nothing, I'm fine," she muttered, eyes downcast and quill working fast from ink bottle to paper. She scratched out a word hard enough to poke a hole through her parchment.

He waited for her to say more. She didn't. If anything, she looked more irritated the more she wrote, and Viktor was too anxious to carry on with the silence.

"I will go if you want," he said slowly, making her instantly halt and look up at him. He wanted to add that it's ok if she was having second thoughts about the ball as well, but the words were stuck in his throat and he could do nothing but pick at the weathered cover of his book.

"Alright, how about I make you a promise?" she said, putting her quill down and clearing her throat. "I, Hermione Jean Granger, promise to tell you myself if I'm ever bothered by your presence here with me. Now will you please stop beating yourself over it?"

The corner of his mouth twitched, but he fought down the smile. "No."

"What do you mean _no_?"

"I don't want this promise. Make another."

"Viktor, what does it matter when– oh, _fine_!" she huffed when he quickly shook his head, glaring at him from across the table and folding her arms over her chest. "What kind of promise will make you stop fretting over this silly notion that you're bothering me when you're hardly making any noise to being with?"

 _Forget the other guy_.

"Honesty," he decided. "Promise to tell me the truth, always."

She frowned, confused at his request. "I-I suppose, alright. I promise to always be honest with you."

"Always?"

" _Always,_ Viktor."

"Good. Why are you upset?"

She blinked. Then, to his surprise, she laughed. "Oh, I can't believe I walked right into that!"

"Yes, you have to tell me now," he said. "You make promise."

She sighed, traces of her laughter still on her face. "Alright, I'll tell you, but you have to promise not to laugh or tell me that it's 'not a big deal' because it is to me."

"Of course, I promise," he said quickly when he saw her looking uncertain.

She nodded. She paused, as if really thinking through her decision, before twisting around in her chair to rummage through her bag. Viktor stretched his neck to look over her shoulder, now very curios about the subject of her distress. He straightened up just as she pulled out a rolled piece of parchment and passed it to him.

"I didn't do very well on my last Defense Against the Dark Arts essay," she sighed, looking at the piece of parchment Viktor was unrolling as if it were a tragic thing to behold. "We were supposed to write about modern uses of the Unforgivable Curses and obviously there is _none_ unless if you're a dark wizard, but Professor Moody doesn't seem to agree with me."

His eyes scanned over her words. Her use of the written language was very sophisticated, especially for her age, but he didn't have a problem keeping up. From what Viktor understood from the professor's note at the bottom, Moody seemed rather impressed with her knowledge. Her essay actually wasn't bad at all, but in fact very well written and researched. The only problem was her strictly applying her reasoning to situations that involved duels between witches or wizards or other magical creatures. She got marked down for it, but other than that she did wonderfully.

He figured that, her being the way she is, doing wonderfully is nothing compared to doing exceptionally wonderfully on _all_ of her assignments.

"It's very good," he said, passing her back her essay.

She caught on his hesitation. "But?"

"You _can_ use Unforgivable Curses for other things," he said.

"Like _what?"_ she asked incredulously, looking like she'd rather he just laughed at her fussing over a grade lower than Outstanding than make such an absurd suggestion. "Those curses were created to _torture, manipulate,_ and _kill!_ They're just plain horrible and anyone who uses either three does so with dark, selfish intentions. No decent wizard would _ever_ use an Unforgiveable Curse, let alone try to justify their existence!"

"If against wizards, yes, it's bad," he said, a little taken aback by her extreme aversion of the possibility, but determined and pressured by his Durmstrang pride to prove her wrong. "But very useful for other things, like how they used to getting information from criminals using Cruciatus Curse."

"Most of those cases were lost because a lot of those criminals were driven to insanity before they could even confess to their crimes! And we have Veritaserum now so there's no need to resort to such outdated, barbaric methods!"

"Veritaserum runs out."

"You could always brew more!"

"You don't always have time and ingredients. You don't know, maybe lives are in danger and you are needing answers to save them. Cruciatus Curse is fastest way."

"Those lives will be lost regardless if the person holding the answers chooses insanity over freedom."

"They will be lost too if you waste time brewing Veritaserum, but with Cruciatus there is small chance and is better than nothing."

"Absolutely not, there is always a way!" she said stubbornly.

"It's not always the same thing, you know," he said, slightly amused. He should've known she'd make a formidable debate opponent. "Using Cruciatus Curse on your opponent, it doesn't work if you don't want to hurt them."

"Yes, Professor Moody said that you have to really want to inflict pain for it to properly work, or to drive your opponent to insanity, but that still doesn't justify its usage when there are other more humane methods to extract information!"

He frowned. To be fair he had given her a really vague example. He decided to move to the next curse, this time using a very detailed hypothetical situation that enables its use.

"You are lost," he began, leaning forward. "You have nothing except for wand. There are no witches or wizards for miles–"

"Use your wand to send signals!"

"–oceans. There is nothing but sea water and an island and your wand. You will need to hunt. What will you do?"

She flushed, displeased at being cornered but still unwilling to surrender. "Use a rock, or built a trap, or…" she gulped, looking uneasy at the thought of committing such an act. "…or snap its neck."

"So slow, painful death," he said, smirking as she glared at him. "Killing Curse is faster and more merciful."

" _Merciful_!" She shook her head, shocked that he'd say that in regards to the Killing Curse. "Alright fine, I suppose it's more humane to use a Killing Curse in that kind of situation!" She lifted her chin haughtily, trying not to look too disgruntled at having lost that round. "Please explain how you would justify using the Imperius Curse?"

He thought long and hard about it. He didn't really like the idea of having his mind probed and his limbs controlled by an invisible puppeteer, so he wasn't very keen on defending it, especially when he had experienced it in his fourth year at Durmstrang.

They were being taught to resist it. The professor had a turn with each student, and the longer the student took to throw off the curse the more humiliating their controlled antics would become. Viktor had managed to free himself just as his professor commanded him to twirl on the spot like a ballerina, but some of his classmates had it worse. Some girls were made to lick the floor, a few shaved their heads, two boys applied make-up, and one boy kissed another and then broke down into tears from sheer humiliation.

Many of those students did not return the following year.

"Spies," he said at last, shaking the rather disturbing memory from his mind, "for war, you need someone to spy on the enemy."

"I think a double agent will suffice," she sniffed.

"You can't control a double agent," he said. "He could get caught and killed, or worse: bribed into betraying you."

"And one under the Imperius Curse could eventually free himself."

"Not if you do it right."

"And have you ever–?" she stopped herself, averting her eyes and biting her lip.

He somehow knew the rest of her question despite her choosing not to voice it, probably thinking it might offend him, and he wasn't offended but he was still afraid of his own answer and her reaction to it.

"I know they teach it at Durmstrang," she said, giving him her best assuring look despite being nervous still. "I'm sorry, Viktor, I asked without thinking. I am a little curios, I suppose, but you don't have to answer if you don't want to."

"Thank you," he said.

The silence that followed felt a little tense. She didn't go back to work, as he hoped she would, but sat there with her head bowed in shame.

"Third year we learn in theory," he said, avoiding her eyes and lazily flipping through his own book, "fourth year we learn to resist, and fifth in practice."

A part of him hoped she'd let it drop there, but he knew his answer was too short and she was far too curios for her own good and he can do nothing but give her whatever she wants.

"And how- how do you learn to perform them in practice?" she asked in a low voice.

He looked up and saw that she was staring at him apprehensively, her brilliant mind most likely coming up with all kinds of outrageous possibilities. Viktor sometimes forgets that Durmstrang is a mystery to outsiders, so they're likely to assume the worst.

"I'm not allowed to say," he said, closing his book with a sigh. "Many can't perform Unforgiveable Curses anyway, so examiners' grading standards are very low."

"Oh?" she breathed, and he was relieved to see that that made her relax a little. "How come?"

"I told you, it doesn't work if you don't want to hurt your opponent. Not many boys and girls are angry enough, so they expect everyone to fail. Also," he said, grinning, " _no one_ , man or boy, wants to hurt bunnies."

She laughed. It was shaky still from the lingering, dark effects of their subject, but it brought life to her face and he couldn't ask for anything better.

* * *

He was pacing the length of his dorm room for a long time before he finally decided on a shark. It made perfect sense. The animal was fairly adaptable, fast, agile, and fearsome. His senses would be heightened and for the coming task that's exactly what he'd need, plus human transfiguration would surely earn him a generous amount of points that will once again put him in the lead.

It would also impress Hermione, knowing that there's definitely more to him than an ancient Eastern European name and Quidditch.

He was fairly good at human transfiguration, as he had altered his facial features many times before whenever he needed to be somewhere public, but he's never completely transfigured himself into an animal, especially an aquatic one with gills. It took one too many tries to get only his head transfigured, and at one point he somehow managed to slap himself with his own fin and then nearly suffocate to death in the following try, but in the end he managed to get it just right and even fix the otherwise murky vision of a naturally-born shark.

Everything was working out perfectly. Now all that's left is figuring out the precious object he'll have to find at the bottom of the lake. He thought it'd be his broom, because he is rather fond of it but he wouldn't really lament its loss as his team's sponsors would simply get him a replacement within days. He hadn't taken anything else with him for the trip, besides books and clothes, all of which could be easily replaced, except maybe for Hermione's S.P.E.W badge–

Panic swept through him. He was certain it'd be destroyed if placed under water for too long. He rushed to the nightstand, yanked the top drawer open, grabbed the badge and shoved it in his pocket. Triwizard Tournament be damned, they'll have to pry it out of his cold, dead hands if they want to use it for the second task.

* * *

A/N: I'm sorry I didn't include the Yule Ball in this chapter! I wanted to really reward you guys for making me so happy, but the scene is quite long and I've already reached the word limit. I didn't want to rush it for the sake of including it in this chapter, or remove any of the other scenes as they are important for later instalments, but rest assured that you will get another update before Christmas and it will open with the Yule Ball! Err..have I said too much? Ah well, its done.

Thank you for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I really, _really_ hate that I had to divide this into two chapters but FF just would not let me upload the whole doc no matter how hard I tried. I'd leave it and try another day, but this time of the year will only get busier for me so there's no guarantee that I'll get another chance (or decent internet connection) I promised you guys a Yule Ball chapter and I really, really didn't want to disappoint anyone. This is just going to bother me for a long time because of this awkward break, and this chapter in particular is very, _very_ important. I guess I'll get over it eventually...

Anyway, I do apologise for that. I hope you enjoy reading it regardless!

* * *

The halls leading to the makeshift ballroom that was originally the Great Hall were washed in various colors of the rainbow. The boys were mostly in black save for a few odd whites and browns and navy blues, and from where Viktor stood leaning against the pillar closest to the staircase he was able to identify his peers in their official Durmstrang burgundy with the fur-lined cloak. It was especially tailored for formal occasions, and given their school's elusive nature, this is the very first time they've actually worn it.

Viktor found that he liked it better than his uniform. The cut made him look more impressive and especially broader around the shoulders and chest, and the cloak draped over his shoulder hid his slouchy posture. He had struggled with his hair for a while, a very unusual feat for someone that never really cared about appearances before, for it was at that awkward stage between being short and long and he had cursed himself a hundred times for not thinking of growing it out sooner. He would've looked even more impressive with long, dark hair tied at the nape of his neck rather than pushed back.

Looking hard and long at his reflection in the mirror, he decided it was time to grow a beard. He then tried to imagine himself with one neatly trimmed and as dark as his hair to distract himself from his jittery nerves, but then his thoughts drifted to Hermione and he started to wonder if she'd like it. The next thing he knows his hands were shaking again.

He found it very difficult to stay put and not pace the length of the hall. His nerves were screaming at him to run up the stairs and to break into the Gryffindor common room, because surely she wouldn't abandon him at the nick of time without there being some kind of an emergency holding her back.

 _It's not yet time,_ he tried calming himself. They had agreed to meet by the staircase, and he had confirmed it with her again just the day before, but she was still terribly late and the ball will likely commence soon. Almost every student of every school were already present with their dates, so what was taking her so long? Was it possible that she forgot? What if she decided that she'd rather not go to the ball after all, if the one she truly wanted to go with was likely with someone else right now?

Whatever the reason, it would still crush and humiliate him, both as Seeker and Champion, if she doesn't show up anytime soon. He doubts he'll even have the nerve to leave the ship and compete afterwards.

 _She's not like that._

She's not, he decided. She's better. She's kind, on top of being smart and beautiful and strange and interesting and he had obviously been out of his mind to think that she'd look at him twice before–

He closed his eyes and allowed himself a deep sigh. Of all the times to panic, it isn't now. He's Viktor Krum, he's _better_ than this!

"Fall asleep waiting for Granger?"

He opened his eyes and saw Cedric standing before him, handsome and charming as ever in his formal black robes. Viktor couldn't help the twinge of envy at not only his appearance, but also at the sight of the pretty, entranced Asian girl on his arm.

He frowned, finally taking in the form of Cedric's date that _wasn't_ Fleur.

"Ah, where are my manners!" said Cedric, puffing up his chest and gently nudging his date towards Viktor. "Viktor, meet my _stunning_ date Cho Chang. Cho, Viktor Krum."

"Very nice to meet you," she said timidly, offering her hand and attempting to hide her blush from Cedric's compliment.

Viktor shook his head when he realised that he's left her hand hanging in the space between them too long.

"Sorry," he said quickly, embarrassed at his own lack of manners, before taking her hand and kissing it more out of habit than to warrant Cedric's smile turning cold. "Nice to meeting you, too."

Cho raised an amused brow rather than giggle and blush like his peers' dates. "Must be nice being a girl in Durmstrang…"

He scoffed. _Not with Karkaroff running the school._

"That wasn't an invitation to steal my date, Krum," said Cedric under his breath, smiling despite the slight edge in his tone.

Viktor rolled his eyes. "Calm down, I have date."

"Oh! Who did you ask, then?" asked Cho excitedly, notably curious as the rest of the people throwing him glances and ill-concealed whispers about his mysterious date.

He regarded her for a moment. She seemed kind enough and not the gossiping type, but he would still rather not give away his date's identity just yet. "She is coming now."

"O-oh. Alright." She clearly wasn't satisfied with the answer but she wasn't going to push him. In fact she was quick to change the subject, and for that he was grateful. "So you two are friends, then?" she asked with a smile, looking between Cedric and Viktor.

Cedric chuckled nervously and rubbed the back of his neck, sending a quick pleading look towards Viktor before answering his date. "Yea, er, you see, Krum, Cho is a big fan of yours and she really wanted to meet you but she didn't want to be of inconvenience so I thought, you know, since we're _friends_ and all, I could maybe introduce her to you and… get an autograph… maybe…?"

Viktor had never seen Cedric so completely out of his element and it was amusing him to no end. It also made him feel a little better and less pitiful about his own situation.

Cho further stroked his ego by smirking and placing her hands on her hips and saying in a matter-of-factly kind of tone: " _You're_ the fan, Cedric. Don't get me wrong, Viktor, I think you're alright, but _I_ definitely wasn't the one nagging and hounding my father for _months_ for the Bulgaria versus Ireland match."

Viktor raised a brow at Cedric. The boy flushed and laughed. "Alright, fine, you got me! I was trying to impress Cho."

Despite how his evening was turning out Viktor was feeling surprisingly generous, but mostly eager to further spite Fleur by getting Cedric even closer to Cho.

"He is very nice boy, yes," he said to Cho with a straight face, ignoring Cedric faltering beside him. He opened his mouth to compliment him some more but his mind went blank too fast. He suddenly realized that he knew absolutely _nothing_ about Cedric. "He is in house…" he glanced at Cedric for help but he was still shocked and useless, so Viktor strained his own mind to remember. "…He is in house with the bunny."

"Badger," corrected Cedric automatically, blinking.

He racked his brain for other details he might've missed. "He is also liking horse meat, but is ok."

" _What_ , horse meat?" asked Cho, giggling.

" _Okay_ then, we should probably leave Krum to find his date now!" said Cedric, ushering a still-giggling Cho into the opposite direction just as she was about to fire more questions. He then said to Viktor: "Appreciate the effort, mate, really I do. Don't take this the wrong way but _please_ don't help me again."

Viktor shrugged in response. When they disappeared into the crowd he turned back towards the deserted staircase, folding his arms over his chest and willing her toappear already and ease his anxious mind. At that point he didn't even care if she were to show up in her best robes or caked in mud, as long as she doesn't abandon him tonight of all nights.

" _You haven't introduced me to your date, Viktor."_

Viktor bit down a groan. He was willing to fight all four dragons of the first task with a twig in exchange for Karkaroff disappearing on the spot.

He wasn't so lucky. The headmaster, his robes white and his cloak lined with the same grey fur of his students', was giving him the usual friendly smile of a serpent as he stood before him with his hands tucked behind his back. He didn't even bother to pretend to look for Viktor's date.

" _I have already met your other classmates' companions,"_ he added, chucking mirthlessly. _"I assumed my own champion would come to me himself rather than make me scout for him!"_

Viktor pushed himself off the pillar and straightened his pose. " _I apologise, Headmaster. My date, she's… she's getting ready."_

Technically it wasn't a lie. For all he know, for all he _hoped,_ she really was getting ready.

"Women!" he chuckled, rolling his eyes. " _I suppose they start doing that around this age. Ah, well, I need to go inside now and join the staff. Make sure to introduce her to me before the dance. I really don't want to have to go looking for you again, Viktor. It's unbecoming of a man of my stature."_

Viktor steeled himself against Karkaroff's scrutinizing gaze. " _Of course, Headmaster. I'll come to you before the feast myself._ "

" _With your date_ ," he added, a thick, grey eyebrow raised expectantly.

Viktor nodded. Karkaroff observed him for an interval, and when he didn't find anything to satisfy his suspicion he whirled around and disappeared into the ballroom behind Albus Dumbledore and Olympe Maxime. Soon enough, when the doors were finally open, other students started following in with their dates in tow. The crowd outside started thinning slowly as more and more couples disappeared indoors, leaving Viktor standing alone as even those that lingered closest to him started inching towards the ballroom.

Viktor leaned his head back against the stone of the pillar with a sigh. _Please, please don't… don't…_

His inner monologue with his gods remained incomplete, for she now stood at the top of the stairs in an elegant, floaty dress of periwinkle blue, biting her lip timidly but still searching the crowd with her large, brown eyes unabashedly. Her usually bushy mane was tamed into perfect curls and smoothed into an elegant knot at the back of her head.

She smiled when their eyes met, first hesitantly and then brightly when he returned it in kind. He probably looked dimwitted with such a large smile plastered on his face but he hardly cared because no matter who he is now, now matter who or what he'll become in the future, he will _never_ be good enough for her.

 _You're a fucking idiot for doubting,_ he chided himself as he approached the foot of the stairs the same time she started her descend, his eyes never leaving hers for a moment. She stopped a step above him, and when neither moved she curtseyed rather awkwardly.

"I'm clearly not good at this," she said, grinning apologetically as she regained her balance. "I'm sorry I'm late, Viktor, getting ready took a little longer than I thought. I hope I haven't kept you waiting."

"It was worth it," he said. He then took her hand and lowered himself to kiss it, lingering a few extra seconds on the soft skin, before straightening up and tucking her hand in the crook of his arm. "You are perfect."

She truly was perfect in every way he thought possible, and he didn't need the envious looks they received upon their entrance to know that he is without a doubt the luckiest man in the room.

He noticed her attempting to shrink behind him as the eyes around them became bolder, their owners' whispers louder, making her perhaps conscious of her appearance and the attention it was attracting. He pulled her forward and placed a large, comforting hand on top of hers, covering it entirely so that it looked like he was patting his own arm.

He grinned at her questioning look. "You look wonderful."

She smiled shyly back at him. "You– you look quite dashing yourself, Viktor. Everyone's looking at you."

He nearly laughed, and if he hadn't known her to be brilliant he would've thought her delusional. "They forget I exit, or the men I think they are jealous they don't get to dance with the most beautiful girl in the world. Both is good for me."

"You know you really do have a way with words, Viktor," she said, giggling and blushing and driving him a little crazy with the combination. "You certainly know how to make a girl feel good about herself."

"Good, always feel good," he said, squeezing her hand gently.

They passed a wide-eyed Cho and a grinning Cedric, a rather bored Fleur and her gawking date that appeared to be on the verge of drooling all over her, and then finally Harry Potter and his own date. They were both sporting identical bewildered faces once they recognized Hermione, and when she saw them she waved at Harry and he smiled and waved back a second too late, still looking baffled but happy nonetheless for his friend. It put Viktor's mind at ease, knowing that her best friend and his rival didn't have a problem with her accompanying him.

He saw Karkaroff approaching them from the corner of his eyes and braced himself for the worse, because it can't be anything less with Karkaroff and blood heritage, but on the other hand he was eager to get this over with now so that he could enjoy the rest of his evening with Hermione in peace.

"Viktor, there you are!" he said, booming in his usual fake jovial voice. "For a moment I thought you weren't coming after all! Now who might you be, young lady, to keep my champion on his toes more so than the tournament itself?"

"Hermione Granger, sir," said Hermione, smiling and extending her free hand.

Karkaroff's eyes darkened and his toothy smile wavered. He had obviously done his research thoroughly on the school's student body and he was anything but pleased with Viktor's choice.

"Lovely to meet you, Miss Granger," said Karkaroff, cupping Hermione's hands in both of his, his smile present still but no longer as toothy. "It appears that Viktor's taste in women is rather unconventional. _Refreshing,_ if you will." He then looked at Viktor and his displeasure, however concealed to those unfamiliar with him, told him that they would have a _very_ lengthy discussion about this afterwards. "I expect you to take good care of her, Viktor."

"Of course, Headmaster."

He turned back to Hermione. "Have a wonderful evening, Miss Granger."

Karkaroff released her hand and left them to stand next to Dumbledore. Viktor felt pure anger rising and bubbling over at his headmaster's blatant disrespectful conduct. He was always told that refusing to kiss a lady's hand, especially when offered, is the equivalent of spitting at her face. He wanted nothing more than to take out his wand and fight for Hermione's honor right then and there in front of all these witnesses, but then he saw her beaming up at him, completely unaware of the backhanded insult, and he just didn't have the heart to put her in such an embarrassing situation and to ruin her night when she looked so _happy_ to be standing there with him.

He will save his anger for Karkaroff, he decided, and focus instead on keeping that smile on her face for the rest of the evening.

The champions and their dates were all seated at the staff table, and much to Viktor's chagrin he and Hermione were seated fairly close to Karkaroff, no doubt upon his own request, with only one professor sitting between Viktor and his headmaster. She was a fairly beautiful woman whom Hermione introduced as her Arithmancy professor, and despite Karkaroff showing no real interest in her Viktor still hoped that she'd distract him enough from eavesdropping on them.

Dumbledore called for everyone to settle down into their allotted seats, and a moment later they were presented with a menu. Viktor looked around for waiters but saw none, and when he turned to Hermione he found her along with everyone else staring intensely at Dumbledore waiting for him to do something for them to mimic. The old wizard didn't seem to notice the stares as he continued looking over the menu thoughtfully.

"Pork chops," he said to no one in particular, putting the menu down. A moment later a plate of pork chops appeared right in front of him with a pop. The hall was instantly filled with several shouts of different orders.

Viktor looked at Hermione who merely shook her head, looking like she couldn't believe she hadn't figured it out earlier.

"House elves," she explained, looking over her menu again. "They work in the kitchens."

They started talking again once they placed their orders, and in his glee Viktor gradually forgot about Karkaroff potentially listening in on their conversation.

"It's alright, you're not the first to get it wrong and you definitely won't be the last," she said, waving off his apologies at botching her name. He had finally realized it when he caught her cringing twice.

"Please, teach me," he said. "You have a beautiful name, I want to say it right."

"Well, I don't have much of a choice when you put it like that," she said, chuckling. "One way to learn is to watch my mouth as I say it."

He nodded, his eyes dropping to her lips diligently, which proved to be a very bad idea as his first immediate thought upon seeing her rose-petal lips up close was how great it would be to kiss them.

"Viktor?"

"Hmm?" he said without looking up.

"Go on, then, try it!"

He flushed and tore his eyes from her lips. "I– I sorry, will you say it again?"

She hadn't caught on, much to his relief. "It's HER-MY-OH-KNEE."

He had heard her clearly, and didn't think her name was that hard to pronounce, but his eyes had trailed to her lips again and he found himself pronouncing it 'Herm-own-ninny' instead.

She grinned. "Close enough."

He was too embarrassed to insist on trying again.

She suddenly started asking about his school. At first he gave her vague, short answers as he and his peers were originally taught to, but she was never satisfied and the more bits he gave away the more engrossed she became, so much so that she sometimes forgot to eat, so he talked some more about how much smaller Durmstrang castle is than Hogwarts, and how it had spacious and impressive grounds that they don't get to enjoy that much due to them being buried under several feet of snow most of the year, and how they hardly see the sun but when they finally do it's a call for celebration.

"Now, now, Viktor!" said Karkaroff, laughing without really meaning to, staring at Viktor with cold, threatening eyes. "Don't go giving away anything else, now, or your charming friend will know exactly where to find us!"

Viktor scowled at his plate, thinking that he wouldn't mind at all if she were to find them and that he's more than willing to hex anyone who'd try to stop her.

"Igor, all this secrecy," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling, "one would think you didn't want visitors."

 _No one really knows what Karkaroff wants,_ thought Viktor, glancing at the Arithmancy professor that was just barely keeping her face from slipping into something disgusted or exasperated. He smirked. _Smart woman._

"I'm sorry," said Hermione next to him in a low voice. "You don't have to tell me if you're not allowed to, Viktor, it's alright."

"Is ok, headmaster is paranoid over nothing," he said reassuringly, draining the remainder of his drink and setting the goblet down. "You will never find Durmstrang unless I tell you exactly where."

"How come, do you have complicated and advanced concealment charms placed around the castle?"

He grinned. "Ok, that I cannot tell."

"Fair enough," she said, laughing softly. Her eyes landed on his newly refilled cup and a slight frown appeared on her brow. "What about house elves, do you have them at Durmstrang?"

He hesitated and quickly looked away towards Karkaroff, who was distracted arguing with Dumbledore over secret rooms with his fake smile all but gone. Viktor wasn't very fond of the story, and Karkaroff definitely wouldn't be so forgiving if he caught wind of _any_ of his students talking about the incident either amongst themselves or to outsiders.

"We did, once," he whispered, leaning a little closer towards her but still watching Karkaroff.

"It's alright if you're not allowed to tell me, Viktor, I understand," she said reassuringly, her hand sliding over his forearm and settling his nerves.

"Later," he promised, squeezing her hand on his arm with his free one.

When the feast was over the tables and chairs were all pushed away. The champions were ushered towards the dance floor circled by the waiting crowd. Cedric and Cho were first, cheerful and proper, followed by a graceful yet indifferent Fleur with her dazed partner, and then finally Hermione slid her hand into his offered one and they strode after them. Last was Harry Potter, who looked like he was going to be sick, along with his beaming date.

He felt her hand trembling in his as they entered the empty, encircled space, and he looked down and saw she had deliberately glued her eyes on him.

"You are scared?" he asked, amused.

She bit her lip, casting her eyes to a lower point on his chest. "How do you do it?"

It was perhaps the very first time she's made a reference to his life under the spotlight. He felt confident that his poor management of the English language wouldn't be a problem this time, as he had already answered this question many times before in several different languages.

"Easy," he said, sliding his hand over the small of her back and holding her hand aloft as her other hand came to rest on his shoulder. "I don't look at audience, I only think of Snitch."

The music started playing, and on cue the four couples started twirling in tune with it.

"The Snitch?" she asked, frowning a little.

He nodded. "It is my job, no, to catch the Snitch? So I only think of Snitch, and look for Snitch, and then chase it when I find it."

"What about afterwards when you catch or miss it?"

"No need to worry afterwards. Match ends when the Snitch is caught."

"Oh, I see!" she said, her face lighting up the same way it did when she finally understands a particularly difficult Rune to translate. "So the Snitch is the objective, and I just need to focus on that and ignore everything else because that's what matters most, right? The objective is the reason I'm here in the first place."

"Yes, exactly," he said. "What is your objective?"

She snorted. "To get through this dance without spraining my ankles. Yours?"

He grinned. "This," he said, placing both hands on her waist and easily lifting her in the air, eliciting a surprised squeal followed by a chime of girlish giggles that had her exposing her throwing her head back and exposing her teeth.

She was more relaxed when he brought her back on the ground, flushed and warm still as he drew her closer and started twirling them in tune with the other champions.

"You're definitely a better dancer than I thought!" she said, then stopped and nearly stumbled as if she just realized she's uttered an insult.

He raised a brow. "I am interested in things other than Quidditch, Herm-own-ninny."

"Of course you are, I'm sorry!" she stammered, then smiled apologetically. "So I take it dancing is one of those interests?"

"No."

" _No_?" now it was her turn to raise a brow in amusement. "Then how do you explain this?"

"My mother," he said ruefully as she laughed at the unexpected answer. "When I am home she is always taking me to parties of old wizarding families I don't know or care for, hoping I will find a wife."

"But you're _eighteen!"_

"It started when I was twelve."

"But– but that's so young!"

He shrugged. "Old wizarding Bulgarian customs are hard to kill. It's a little better for me, of course, being a man."

She still looked appalled by the idea. " _Still_ , you shouldn't be pressured into marriage, especially not at such a young age!"

"Is ok, Herm-own-ninny. My mother and I, we made a deal," he said. "I say to her: ok, I will go to boring party and dance with girls with no brain." He caught her fighting off a smile at that and couldn't help but mirror it. "But I have condition, I say. After three dances, I go home. She said is ok, only if I dance for at least ten minutes with each girl. Sometimes I leave party in one hour, sometimes in one hour and a half, and if is a good day I leave in thirty minutes."

"I suppose that's fair, somewhat," she said, shaking her head at the notion. "I take it you've met many girls since she started taking you to these parties at such a young age, then?"

"It was worse than the Cruciatus Curse!"

She laughed. "So you haven't found anyone interesting?"

He lifted her again, and being more prepared this time she gripped his arms. "Not in Bulgaria."

She blushed, smiling pleasantly. "Does that mean I get more than three dances tonight?"

He grinned, easing her closer to him and bending to whisper in her ear. "Tonight, Herm-own-ninny, you get all the dances."

A few stray curls tickled the tip of his nose as he drew back. He was suddenly very tempted to plant a kiss on her cheek, but he thought better of it as he was aware of the many eyes still watching them. He watched her face, flushed and as captivated with him as he were with her, and he suddenly realized that he'd kiss more than just her cheek if given the liberty.

Dumbledore soon joined them with Madam Maxime, followed by Ludo Bagman and the Transfiguration professor Hermione admired so much. Karkaroff soon waltzed in with some unfortunate woman, and so did Alastor Moody with the pretty Arithmancy professor, and then bit by bit other couples from the crowd encircling them started joining them and adding more color to the mix. The distance between them kept shrinking the more people joined, but Hermione didn't seem to mind and Viktor was more than happy to embrace her fully. They had stopped talking at some point, not due to lack of effort or subjects to talk about, and it most definitely not the uncomfortable kind of silence. He was feeling a strong pull towards her. He felt certain, from the way she was looking at him with her brown eyes innocent yet curious enough to flicker an inch below his nose, that she was at least vaguely aware of it and even possibly interested, and he was glad of it because he had no intention of fighting it.

The song finally ended and most couples broke free of their embrace to clap for the orchestra. Viktor's hand remained clasped around Hermione's, and for a moment he feared that her stunned expression would soon be turned to fear or revulsion, but then her lips quirked upwards and her fingers threaded through his. He lifted their joint hands and pressed his lips to their intertwined fingers.

A local rock band started playing and the atmosphere around them changed swiftly from poised and controlled to wild and carefree. They stared at each other for an interval, stunned at having been too distracted to notice the sudden change, and then they both laughed. There was nothing to laugh at, of course, as the dance they'll have to learn now would require them to break apart, and both are likely clumsy and terrible at adapting to the more popular beats, but they were together and the laughter was too contagious and he didn't care if he looked silly or awkward because it was the most fun he's had in a very long time. He still managed to grab her wrist and pull her towards him whenever he thought it appropriate, and she responded by laughing and stumbling into his arms.

His jaw muscles were aching from all the smiles they weren't used to conjuring up in such a short amount of time, but that was something he'd rather worry about later. Hermione had collapsed into his arms on her own accord and he had to stop to catch her.

"Tired?" he asked, a little breathless himself as she panted against him.

She giggled. "Would- would it be alright with you if we sit down somewhere for a while?"

"Of course," he said, smiling. He steadied her, and with his hands still holding her elbows he bent down and kissed her cheek. "I will get drinks."


	7. Chapter 7

They had spotted Harry Potter and his red-headed friend on their way to the drinks table, both boys looking rather sullen and without their dates. She stopped them to go and say Hello. He decided to leave her to it while he gets their drinks, but not without kissing both her hands first.

He felt high and giddy and he probably looked utterly ridiculous, but he couldn't get enough of kissing her and he wasn't going to stop until she tells him to.

He found Ivanna and her date by the drinks along with that one blond boy that practically clung to Viktor's side for the first few weeks. The blond boy's date, a dark-haired girl that seemed to have somehow gotten her nose permanently stuck in the air, was wearing a pink dress with too many frills. She nudged him when she spotted Viktor approaching.

He ignored them and proceeded to look at the drinks' offered, and then frowned at one particular drink. _Who on Earth puts butter in beer?_

"I'd recommend that," said the blond boy, picking up a glass and handing it to Viktor. "It's not that great, of course, but it's the best thing they've got in this fleapit."

Viktor accepted the glass from his hand and picked another without uttering a word of thanks. The boy was beginning to sound too much like the Beauxbatons students when they first arrived and he didn't like that very much.

"Durmstrang would've had better options, I'm sure," he added. His grey eyes flickered to the two cups in Viktor's hands and his expression hardened. "I don't think anyone's briefed you on the sort of lot that old fool accepts into this place. Let me start off by telling you that this place is _nothing_ like Durmstrang, where you get _proper_ education with _real_ witches and wizards."

Viktor looked at Ivanna and noticed for the first time since he approached them that she was holding herself rather stiffly by her date, her expression hard and her blue eyes cold. She was wearing a fitting dress of burgundy with a grey fur shawl draped over her arms, and he assumed that she had first looked enticing with her blonde hair curled and her rouged lips and dark eye make-up, but right now she looked as intimidating as she was unapproachable.

He didn't need to ask to know why. She, too, had lost family to dark wizards and blood supremacy.

"That Granger you're with?" said the boy, smirking at the effect his choice of words had on Viktor, who couldn't help but frown at the contempt laced with Hermione's name. "She's a Mudblood, and a beaver-toothed, insufferable know-it-all at that." He practically spat out the rest, making his date shriek with laughter beside him. Ivanna gulped down her drink and grabbed another. "And now that you know–"

"We don't talk like that," said Viktor, his voice low and cautionary and his grip on the cups in his hands hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

Viktor's harsh tone wiped the boy's smile right off his pointed face. The poisonous ideals his father had warned him about seemed to thrive here still despite the school and its Headmaster's reputation, since the boy seemed comfortable enough to use such foul language in the presence of two foreigners.

Viktor turned to Ivanna, who regarded him icily, making him hesitate and _really_ consider his next move. Her date, it appeared, looked unfazed by his friend's choice of words and of how uncomfortable it was making Ivanna. If anything he looked utterly bored with the whole affair and only mildly curious about Viktor and the way he was staring at his date.

" _Ivanna, forget Karkaroff,"_ said Viktor, ignoring her date's raised eyebrows. It was very rude of him to start a conversation in a language they didn't understand, but he doesn't like them that much so he doesn't really care if he offends them. If anything, _they_ offended him by uttering such filth in his presence. " _I don't know if he did it on purpose, but it's utterly unacceptable and you don't have to put up with it._ _You're not obligated to–"_

 _"_ _I can take care of myself, thank you!"_ she snapped, looking like she was more offended at him asking than at the nature of her companions' conversation.

He sighed. " _Suit yourself."_

He turned around without another word or glance towards her companions. He had no intention of showing off what little influence he had on Karkaroff. He was honestly just trying to help, but if she'd rather grit her teeth and bear with it than accept his aid then so be it. He's not one to force himself on people.

* * *

"Where is Herm-own-ninny?" he asked, looking between Harry and his angry-looking friend, confused at the open hostility of the second.

Harry opened his mouth to speak but his red-headed friend beat him to it.

"No idea," he said, looking up at him as if he'd just committed a heinous crime. "Lost her, have you?"

He felt like he was being taunted and his face withdrew back to the usual unfriendliness he reserves for the public. He stopped himself there because he had always prided himself in being above petty squabbles, especially ones he doesn't even know the cause of. Besides that, he had no intention of causing a rift between Hermione and her friends by picking a fight with one.

"Well, if you see her, tell her I have drinks," he said, giving Harry a curt nod and then turning away.

* * *

Several tours around the hall and he still couldn't find her. He had already passed the drinks table thrice, and he was almost beginning to recognize some of the faces on the dance floor. He even passed by Poliakoff being instructed to twirl in his spot and swat at imaginary flies by a pale girl that dressed funny, for which he received a very angry swat at the back of his head from Karkaroff followed by a menacing, inhuman hiss that sounded suspiciously like: _"stop embarrassing me, you idiot!"_ eliciting laughter even from those that didn't understand the language.

He felt dread, piercing and sharp, edging closer towards his heart the more he looked. What if she had found the boy she had originally wanted to ask? What if he had whisked her away somewhere far, quiet, and private where their whispers and promises are only for the walls to keep? He had been so _sure_ that he'd won her over, or he was at least beginning to win her over–

A flash of red caught his eyes near the entrance. He instantly recognised the girl with the red hair, her mischievous face now fiery as she marched towards the tables and chairs where some of the dancers sat to catch their breath. Hermione had spoken highly of her the few times she came up in conversation.

He strode towards her as fast as he could without spilling the drinks still clutched in his hands. Her glare snapped up at him but he hardly cared. He had to know, _desperately,_ but the words weren't easy to speak.

"Herm-own-ninny," he managed to say.

"In the courtyard," she said, trudging past him without another word.

He didn't bother looking towards where she was headed. He rushed through the crowd, out the doors, and down the hall where more couples lounged. They thinned considerably and then vanished as he neared his destination, his face stern despite his racing heart and wild imagination conjuring all kinds of unsavory images of his date in the arms of his faceless rival.

He found her alone in the courtyard, pacing by the bench where she first ensnared his senses. She had one hand on her hip holding her heels from their straps and the other massaging her temples. His mysterious rival was nowhere around, but Viktor still wasn't relieved with the sight. She was panting and pacing a little too hurriedly, glowering at the snow scorching her bare feet and muttering to herself. She looked like she had just recovered from a panic attack, except she was more angry than frightened.

He took a deep breath and walked towards her, his steps heavy on the soft snow but not enough to alert her to his presence until he was a foot away. She stopped her pacing and looked at him, first confused and then alarmed.

"I have looked everywhere for you, Herm-own-ninny," he said. He couldn't help the admonishment in his tone, not when she made him panic for a good twenty minutes or so.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Viktor, I didn't– !" she bit her lip, her shame evident on her face. She started pacing again. "I– I needed some air."

He set the drinks on the bench and then stopped her when she came his way again by placing his hands on her shoulders. "Why you did not tell me?"

She shrugged off his hands and scowled at the snow again, seemingly refusing to meet his eyes. "I'm alright, Viktor, I just needed to be alone for a few minutes."

"Why?"

"Oh, for goodness' sake!" she cried, angry and frustrated, whirling away from him and messaging her temples with her fingers again. "I said I'm sorry I left, Viktor, what more do you want? I just needed a few minutes _for myself,_ is that such a bloody hard concept to grasp?!"

He stared at her back, his lips parted slightly, stunned by her sudden outburst. He had left her laughing and beaming, he was sure of it. This beautiful creature that stood before him looked nothing like his date. Something had happened to her while he was gone, he was sure of it. He refused to believe that he was the cause of her misery, not when she had been so happy before he left her.

He saw her shivering, her hands rubbing along her arms furiously to relieve some of the cold. He unfastened his cloak, stepped towards her, draped the heavy material over her shoulders and pinned it in place by keeping his hands over the fabric, causing her to utter a small gasp and stiffen.

"I was worried," he admitted, staring into her smooth curls and the elegant knot, resisting the urge to bury his face in the chestnut locks and beg. "You were gone a long time. I thought–" he swallowed with difficulty, sliding his hands off her shoulders when he was sure the cloak wouldn't slip. "I am not angry you left, Herm-own-ninny. I want you to be happy tonight, so if it will make you happy is ok, I will go. I am happy you said yes, and then you danced and talked with me, but if you don't want you don't have to stay with me."

He was going to _kill_ the bastard that soured her mood and turned her against him, morals and honor be damned.

She turned around then, clutching his cloak tightly around herself, and he quickly dropped his eyes to her feet. They were bare and sunk in snow and turning a darker shade of blue.

"Viktor, why did you ask me to the ball?" she asked, her voice irritable still but shaking slightly.

"I know lady shoes hurt but you will loose your toes walking barefoot in the snow, Herm-own-ninny!" he said, shaking his head at her feet, scolding lightly once again as he eased her onto the bench and then got down on one knee before her. The snow melted under his knee and soaked the fabric of his uniform instantly, making him shiver slightly, but he ignored it and grabbed both her feet and placed them on his lap. He then began brushing snow and grass and bits of mud off one foot. "I don't want to hear excuses. I know you smartest witch in Hogwarts, I know you know warming charms."

He took out his wand and tried one on the tiny foot cradled in his hand. The bluish skin flushed instantly and the warmth reached even his hand holding the foot. He couldn't help but smile when she wiggled her toes experimentally, and again he had to resist the urge to kiss each individual toe.

"And I told you why I asked you to ball," he said as he repeated the procedure with the other foot. "I want to know you, because you are smart and beautiful and _different_. I have met many girls, Herm-own-ninny, and they are all the same. They don't want to talk to Viktor, they want to talk to the fastest Seeker in the world or to the son of Stefan Krum. They care about what I have in my vaults, not about my favorite books or my opinions on charms and curses and ancient runes."

He grabbed the heels dangling from her hands and slipped them onto her feet and clasped the straps above her ankles. "You see me as a man, Herm-own-ninny. You see many small, _important_ things others don't. People here, I notice they give you hard time for being Muggle-born, but you are not allowing them to stop you. You are very strong. You work very hard to be the best but you also help your friends. You are also very brave, and kind, you worry about small creatures like elves that greatest wizards in the world don't think about, and you are _so young_ and you have no resources or support or influence with powerful people but you still work hard to give those creatures a better life and to make other wizards be aware of their mistakes."

He stopped, staring hard at his long fingers still looped loosely around one ankle as her other foot slid back into the ground. "I know I can ask any girl, Herm-own-ninny, but they will never say Yes to Viktor. They will say Yes to Viktor Krum, Seeker and Champion, but with you there is small chance and I was thinking, even if she is saying no, I want to try asking this girl because she will not make me want to leave after three dances."

His head snapped up when he heard her sniffling. Her hands were no longer clutching his cloak but were balled and shaking on her knees, but that didn't matter as much to him as the wet trails her tears were making on her face.

"You are a very confusing girl," he said softly, his eyes widening as she finally released a sob that she had been struggling to keep in her chest. He sighed and covered her fists with his free hand as the thumb of the hand holding her ankle started drawing soothing circles on the soft, warmed skin. "What happened with you?"

"I'm so sorry I yelled at you, Viktor," she hiccupped, freeing a hand to wipe her tears, only it proved to be futile as more tears spilled over. "I'm sorry, I was horrible towards you and I- I- I took my anger at Ron out on you when you've been so, _so_ wonderful!"

"Is ok, Herm-own-ninny, I am not angry– who is Ron?" he asked, interest piqued at hearing the name of a potential culprit.

"He's my friend and he's an idiot!" she said crossly, glaring through her tears.

"Boy with red hair? What did he do?" He suddenly regrets giving in to his pride and not responding to the boy's hostility.

"He said I'm betraying Harry and Hogwarts and fraternizing with the enemy! Can you believe that? _Fraternizing with the enemy_ , as if he wasn't drooling at the prospect of sharing a table with your school!"

"Fraten– what?"

"Fraternizing, it means forming a friendship with someone you're not supposed to," she explained, her face softening a little as she took in his confused expression. "He thinks you're taking advantage of me."

"I was not raised like that," he said, his face darkening. It's true that in the past he had done things with girls that his parents probably wouldn't approve of, but he had _never_ concealed his intentions from those girls nor did he mislead them or force himself on them. He was disgusted, and now more angry than ever at the boy who blatantly accused him of committing such barbaric acts against none other than Hermione. He swiftly got up on his feet, looking towards the entrance to the castle. "I will go talk to him."

"No!" she gasped, grabbing his hand in haste and attempting to pull him back. "Viktor, _please_ don't! It's not worth it, I promise you I'm alright! Ron, he's– he's actually a really big fan of yours–"

"He speaks of my honour when he knows nothing," he said, refusing to look at her pleading face. "He also hurt you, Herm-own-ninny. He is boy now, but soon he will be man and no one is teaching him how, so I have to."

"Please, Viktor, just leave him!" she tightened her grip when he tried to free himself. "Please, do it for me!"

He made the mistake of looking at her when she said that, and combined with her freshly glistening eyes and desperate voice he was disarmed once again.

He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You don't fight fair."

"That's because I don't want to fight in the first place," she said, tugging at his hand. He slacked and allowed her to guide him to the empty space on the bench beside her. She then looped her arms around his and rested her head on his shoulder. He closed his eyes and allowed her warmth to soothe him. "Will you tell me about the house elves of Durmstrang?" she asked quietly.

"It's not a happy story, Herm-own-ninny," he said, taking in the moisture that still clung to her eyelashes.

She slid one hand down his forearm and looped her fingers through his. "Please, I'd like to hear it now."

"If you insist," he said, looking down at their hands resting on his thigh with fondness. "It happened not too long ago, maybe when I was in fourth or fifth year. Karkaroff was having problems with the cooks. I don't remember what it was, but Karkaroff made them too angry and they all left. He decided to bring house elves like he used to have when he was still boy in England. House elves are not native in those parts, but everyone knows they have better magic so no one thought to stop Karkaroff when he bought hundreds of them and moved them to Durmstrang."

She shivered. She drew his cloak tighter around herself with her free hand and snuggled closer to his side. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze before continuing.

"Durmstrang castle… it's not warm like Hogwarts. We only light fires for magical purposes. I don't know why, professors say Muggle scientists they come close to those parts to study animals or lands or the climate in the mountains, and too much heat will expose our school to their machines." He scoffed, still struggling to understand that logic after so many years. "Anyway, you know house elves only dress in little clothing, and how they are not allowed to use magic without their master's permission or to accept clothes or complain about the cold. They cannot argue with their master, or show that they are in pain, and the castle is cold even for us students with all our robes and furs."

He took a deep breath, the memory of their small, cold bodies still fresh in his mind. "They all died after staying in the castle for only one day. It was too cold for them."

"That's _awful,"_ she gasped, shivering again next to him. He looked at her and saw that she wasn't crying, but her face was still anguished as she stared wide-eyed into the clearing. "That– that horrible _,_ vile man! Did he not think of at least… oh, I don't know, maybe allowing them to light the fires in the kitchens only if he's so afraid of a few Muggle scientists?! Was he at least _somewhat_ remorseful?"

Viktor snorted. "Karkaroff cares only about Karkaroff. He was annoyed they died. He left the same day to employ cooks and made us get rid of all the bodies."

She hesitated, clearly frightened of her question but far too curious to ignore it. "And how did you dispose of the bodies?"

"We were not allowed to bury them, of course," he said, looking away from her again. "Or burn them, as they do with the dead in some of the students' cultures. They are not considered beings, so no one reported it, and the professors were all too proud to touch them so they made us all tie them to heavy rocks and throw them into the ocean." He tightened his hold on her hand only slightly, suddenly afraid that she'd pull away in fear or disgust, accuse him of all sorts of things when he himself was plagued by the creatures' wide, glassy eyes and frozen leathery skins. "That was the first and last time I saw elves outside books."

She didn't run, as he'd expected her to. She remained by his side, holding his hand still, silently looking up at him as he continued to avoid her eyes by keeping his on the snow laden, empty grounds before them.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that, Viktor," she said after a while. He looked at her and again he wondered what it was he did in a past life to deserve to have her still by his side. "But it just goes to show how fit you are to compete in the Triwizard Tournament. I always thought you were chosen mostly for your physical strength, and while you're not exactly lacking in that department, I'm beginning to believe that the Goblet chose you for strength in character."

"Boys that removed dead elves put their names in the Goblet, too, Herm-own-ninny."

"Yes, but how many of them are willing to talk about it to someone who's already campaigning to put an end to those kinds of practices?" she said, smiling, looking up at him with a kind of admiration that silenced his protests and set his heart alight. "The experience did not silence you, but opened your eyes to the atrocities committed against those poor creatures. You may not have realized it then, but I think subconsciously you knew, or else you would've laughed at me like all the others did." She then sighed and looked down, leaning her cheek against his arm again. "And I just repaid your kindness by ruining the evening."

"Ball is not over," he said, rising to his feet and gently pulling her with him. "We can go back if you want."

She smiled. "I'd like that very much, thank you."

Neither moved towards the entrance. They remained standing close to each other. Viktor raised their hands and kissed the back of hers again, smiling against her skin, and she reached up with her free hand to brush a stray lock of hair that fell over his forehead. Her fingers felt soft and warm against his skin as the tips caressed his cheekbone and her thumb brushed the corner of his mouth. He turned his head slightly and placed a kiss on her palm, and keeping a watch on any kind of disapproval on her face, he gently removed her hand from his cheek and leaned forward to claim her lips with his own.

"Snape's doing carriage checks!" a giggly feminine voice broke through their bubble. Viktor turned, struggling with all his might not to glare at the source of interruption, and he saw a disheveled pale girl with dark hair dragging behind her an equally disheveled, grinning boy. "I suggest you find another spot, because they looked like they were making their way back through here!"

"Thanks," muttered Hermione, looking down at her feet and blushing madly.

"Your headmaster was there, too," added the boy, more to Viktor than Hermione, as they both disappeared into the entrance.

Viktor groaned inwardly, glaring towards where the couple disappeared despite it being originally intended for Karkaroff. He was _so_ close!

"I think we should go in," said Hermione after the couple's giggles faded indoors.

He nodded. He offered her his arm and she accepted.

"Karkaroff ruins everything," he said dejectedly once they were inside.

"I think you meant Snape," she said, laughing as she removed his cloak from her shoulders and passed it back to him.

"No, Karkaroff, I'm sure, but I am now thinking that he is maybe in love with your potions master."

"What made you say that?"

He shrugged. "He is always talking about him and saying nice things, and Karkaroff doesn't say nice things about anyone. He is also always looking for him, and at ball he was sitting next to pretty Arithmancy professor but he did not even dance with her, and now we find him looking into carriages with this Snape professor."

"I would agree with you but I think that Snape might be incapable of love," she said, grinning.

"So is Karkaroff, but look at them now. They will make horrible match, but at least they will leave us alone, yes?"

She laughed then, as genuinely as she did before he left her, and everything felt right again. He felt optimistic even though he didn't get to kiss her like he wanted to, because at least now he knows that she's beginning to see him as more than just her library companion and that's all he could ask for.

When they entered the ballroom again they found that the lights were dimmed and the music playing slowed. Not many couples remained on the dance floor, as most were already either somewhere outside trying to have a private moment or catching their breath on the tables and chairs or near the drinks and snack bars. Viktor thought that she might not want to dance in such close proximity to him, at least not in plain sight when there weren't as many dancers covering them, so he thought he'd take them to an empty table but she surprised him by leading him towards the dance floor.

They danced for the rest of the evening, hardly talking but comfortable in each other's embrace, and they remained that way until the music stopped and the orchestra started packing away their instruments to signal the end. It was then they noticed that those few who remained indoors were already headed outside.

They stayed quiet as they followed the rest, her hand still on his arm, until they reached the point where they were to part ways. He took her hands and kissed them one last time.

"You made me very happy tonight," he said, smiling down at her. "Thank you, Herm-own-ninny, for saying Yes."

"I had an amazing night myself," she said, smiling a little tiredly and blushing faintly. She then stepped into his arms and wrapped hers around his waist. "You were absolutely wonderful, Viktor. Thank you for taking me."

He wrapped his arms around her and held her closer, tucking her head under his chin and closing his eyes, savoring the moment as much as he could. He had always thought that, should he ever come to holding her as close as he did right now, his heart would be breaking a few ribs in an attempt to escape, but his nerves were not in their normal frantic state whenever she looks his way or smiles nor were they as calm as they'd normally be when he's busy doing some mundane everyday chore. He felt at peace, comforted more so than he ever was when flying, and nothing's ever felt like home before and he never wants to let her go.

"Herm-own-ninny," he said, pulling back a little to look at her face. "Can I… can I see you again? After tonight, I would like to see you again if possible."

"Of course, Viktor," she said, smiling warmly. "You know where to find me. You don't need an excuse to come talk to me, you're more than welcome to join me if you ever feel like it."

"Thank you," he said, brushing a few stray curls from her face before bending down and placing a kiss on her forehead. "Goodnight, Herm-own-ninny."

"Goodnight, Viktor."

* * *

A/N: See you next year :) Happy Holidays!


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Just a quick thank you to all the lovely people who reviewed and added this story to their favourites/alerts! The weeks preceding/following Christmas/New Years have been crazy hectic, so unfortunately I haven't been able to reply to most reviews but please know that I am super happy and grateful that you took the time to do so!

Also a friendly reminder that anything written in _italics_ is being spoken in Bulgarian.

* * *

He was glad to see that she had reconciled with her friend– Ron. He remembers his name, mostly because he had words for him.

They were headed somewhere and they appeared to be in a rush. Harry Potter was the first to spot him all the way from the other side of the lake, frowning and no doubt commenting about Viktor's newfound hobby. Hermione looked up at him and he caught the faintest smile gracing her lips before she turned to say something to Ron.

The cool January breeze felt like silk on his skin. Living in harsher conditions most of the time prevented him from swimming outdoors, and seeing that he'll have to turn into a shark in a month or so he figured now is the time to practice his transfiguration underwater. He could also do a bit of exploring underwater, he thought, if he could keep his gills on long enough.

He saw the trio looking at him again. He pretended not to notice, and instead made a show of diving gracefully into the murky waters of the lake.

* * *

He knew it wouldn't take long for Karkaroff to call him to his office. If anything, he was a little surprised the Headmaster hadn't dragged him into the ship the very minute the Yule Ball came to an end, and as much as he appreciated the short-lived peace that came with the delay he couldn't help but regret it now that he's facing his Headmaster. He had planed to meet Hermione in the library. He hadn't been able to see her since the Yule Ball due to mounting school work he's been neglecting for the sake of his nerves, and just as he finally managed to get on top of everything and rejoice Karkaroff calls for him.

Karkaroff was also making him _wait_ on top of everything else. Had Viktor not been as annoyed he might've felt a tiny bit concerned over his Headmaster's frantic mutterings as he scribbled away on several pieces of parchment paper before finally rolling them up and sending them off with different owls.

Viktor took the chance to study him as he sent off the last owl and closed the window behind it. He wasn't sure if it were the Headmaster's bony features nearly jutting out of his pale skin, speedily greying hair, or shifty eyes, but all of a sudden the tyrannical man he's always known seemed… frail.

" _Is everything alright, Headmaster?"_ he asked cautiously.

Karkaroff jumped, clearly startled, before releasing a tired sigh and slowly sinking into his chair. He leaned his head back and brought his trembling fingers to his temples. " _Sit down, Viktor."_

Viktor complied, the rattling whisper of Karkaroff's voice making him slightly uncomfortable.

 _He's an old man,_ he tried reasoning with himself. _Doesn't look like a healthy one, either…_

Karkaroff then placed the hand previously massaging his temple on the grand oak table separating them. There were dark circles under his eyes. " _Viktor there comes a time in every young man's life where he must make… difficult decisions."_

Viktor frowned. He felt like they weren't going to be talking about the tournament at all.

" _You are_ _a man of… many desirable qualities,"_ he continued, for once not in his usual sickeningly flattering voice. _"You come from an ancient family, one that is possibly older than the Blacks themselves, and one of very few whose blood remains untainted."_ Viktor willed himself not to let his displeasure at that statement show on his face and tried to convince himself that Karkaroff isn't necessarily talking about Hermione, but merely making a general statement about his family's blood status. " _You are also Durmstrang's finest. There isn't a spell nor charm you haven't perfected, not a single potion you can't brew. You probably know our library as you know the back of your hand, and I see that you've wasted no time looking into our host's library, and that's not counting your successful Quidditch career or the Triwizard Tournament that you're very likely to win."_

Viktor snorted inwardly. After all that fuss, Karkaroff had actually forgotten that there's one particular charm Viktor couldn't even come close to casting…

 _"In a few years I expect many marriage proposals to come your way,"_ he added with a wry smile. _"That is, of course, if you maintain this pristine image."_

 _"I don't understand–"_

 _"Dark times are ahead of us, Viktor. I've been on this Earth far longer than you have, and I have seen many great things, so heed my warning. Be very careful of the company you keep because should you choose wrong, and should the time come, they will be your undoing… or_ she _, I should say, will be your undoing."_

Viktor expression darkened. So he was talking about Hermione after all, and what's worse he dared insult her a second time.

" _With all due respect, Headmaster,"_ he said slowly, struggling to maintain his composure. " _My personal life is none of your concern."_

 _"Ah, but it is!"_ he said, not nearly as angered or offended as Viktor expected him to be. If anything he seemed rather amused, as if he was arguing with a child over curfew. _"Your little friend is no ordinary girl, and I'm not talking about her bloodline or reputation as the smartest witch of her age, but about the sort of company_ she _keeps."_

 _"Harry Potter."_

 _"Harry Potter,"_ he repeated with another tired sigh. _"The insufferable Boy Who Lived."_

 _"I don't see how my taking his friend to the Ball has anything to do with him or the tournament. We were just dancing."_

 _"Come now, Viktor, don't lie to me!"_ he chuckled mirthlessly. " _I know you, Viktor, perhaps even better than your own parents. You like this girl, don't you?"_ Viktor's silence seemed to confirm it as the older wizard threw his head back and laughed with more vigor. _"Oh gods, never mind that, you're_ falling _for her!"_

 _"I barely know her,"_ came Viktor's cool response. _"You're seeing something that isn't there, Headmaster."_

 _"Oh, how many times have I heard myself say that when I was your age!"_ there was something malicious glinting in his cold eyes as he paused to stare at Viktor with the same amused smile on his face. _"Tell me, Viktor. Does your father know you're gallivanting with Mudbloods while he slaves away trying to maintain the family's good name?"_

 _"My father would not appreciate you using that foul language, Headmaster,"_ he said, now openly glaring at the older man and just barely keeping his voice still. His hands had balled into fists on his lap and he was grateful they were hidden from view. _"And my family has no quarrels with Muggle-borns."_

 _"Are you quite sure about that?"_ he asked, still unaffected by Viktor's rather improper conduct towards a superior. _"There's no need for this hostility, Viktor. I am only trying to guide you. I am not your enemy– on the contrary, I am your only ally. I have_ always _been your ally. You will do well to ponder my words, and I pray you do before you come to regret your choices."_

" _Headmaster, if you will–"_

" _You are dismissed, Viktor,_ " he said with a wave, looking down and shuffling papers around his desk to indicate that he expects Viktor to be gone by the time he looks up again.

Viktor contemplated staying put simply for the sake of rebelling against Karkaroff at least once. He loathed to admit it, but Karkaroff was right. Viktor doesn't really have many allies, or any at all, and the sudden realization made him feel cornered.

He left Karkaroff's office in a rush. He was relieved to see that no one was on deck to see him trembling.

* * *

 _Dear father._

He stared at the word for a long time before quickly scratching it out and trying another.

 _Lord father._

A bit much. He's not even sure if anyone's used it since centuries past.

 _My Lord Krum._

He shuddered. He sounded like one of the many men that never stopped fawning over his father in an attempt to gain his favor. He was sickened by them more than anything and would rather not get an answer to his questions at all than sound remotely similar to them.

 _Lord Krum._

A little better. Abrupt, perhaps, maybe even a little demanding, but a whole lot better than _my lord Krum._ Still he couldn't find it in himself to write anything with those two words glaring at him from the top of the parchment, so he scratched it off with a sigh.

"Need help?"

He smiled at the sound of her voice drifting over to his side of the table, casting away all his concerns in one go. When he looked up he saw that she had stopped scribbling and was looking at him with mild concern and curiosity. Once again her cheek was marked with a thin black streak and he felt his hand twitch, eager to reach over the mass of books and scrolls between them and wipe the ink off with a single stroke.

He shook his head. "Thank you. I am writing to my father."

"Oh?" her eyes flickered to the few words scratched out, clearly indicating that he hadn't even started with the actual letter. "If you don't mind me asking, is it perhaps a sensitive topic?"

He shrugged. Truth be told, he hadn't really considered it until now, or rather until he met her and until he spoke to Karkaroff, so he wasn't sure if he'd classify it as 'sensitive'. One thing he's certain of is that it's not easy to talk about. Accepting Muggles is one thing, blood status is quite another…

"Well, whenever I have to talk to my father about something I know will upset him what I normally do is give him some good news beforehand. I try to lessen the blow that way, and if I don't have any good news I'd just ask him about something he's passionate about, such as his job, football–"

"Football?"

"Muggle sport," she said, smiling apologetically. "I'd go into detail but I'm afraid I'm not very familiar with it."

He nodded, making a mental note of looking it up later. "My question, is not upsetting, just… hard."

"Oh, it's a question then? Well my father tends to be busy on weekdays, so if it can't wait I'd just ask. He normally replies fairly quickly, though, so to be honest I'm not quite sure what's his definition of 'busy' really is. He also really loves writing to me when I'm here. You see, it's always been me, him, and mum. I've been at Hogwarts for four years now and he's still not used to it, but I really don't mind the letters." She smiled fondly. "I do miss them a lot sometimes, and don't get me wrong I love it here but it's wonderful to hear from the Muggle world from time to time."

He was caught between marveling at the slight exposure of her Muggle life and at the oddity of writing to one's parents as often as she did. "You write to your parents from here?"

She nodded, then frowned. "Don't you, from Durmstrang?"

He shook his head. "Owls not allowed, or other pets. Letters are collected from the mainland once a week."

"Oh no, that would drive my father crazy!" she said with a laugh. "He'd write everyday if he didn't have to work…" she trailed off, as if something just occurred to her. "Viktor, you still… did you still receive letters from home?"

He shook his head.

"What about during Quidditch season?"

Again he shook his head. The knowledge seemed to shock her and it confused him. He had never once written to either one of his parents, mostly because he never felt the need to, and from the looks of it neither did they. He's sure he received at least one in his lifetime so far, but it must've been insignificant because he doesn't remember its contents.

"Oh," she breathed, slinking back into her chair. "I- I can see why you're struggling with the letter now."

He was quiet for an interval, staring at her and trying to fathom how or why she looked concerned all of a sudden.

"I will do what you said," he finally decided, dipping his quill in ink and turning back to his parchment.

"And what is that?"

"I will just ask."

He hesitated, feeling her eyes on him and particularly on his hand holding the quill's tip to the parchment. He then wrote:

 _Father,_

 _What are your views on blood purity?_

 _Viktor._

When he looked up again he saw that she was still staring at his letter, now with a slight frown on her face. He then realized that she was trying to trace the foreign letters into something recognizable. He smiled and rolled up the rather small piece of parchment, making her quickly avert her eyes and blush at having been caught peeping.

"Is- is that how you write your name in Cyrillic?" she murmured, no doubt having just thought of the excuse.

He nodded, then tore off a small piece from the remaining bit of parchment and scribbled a single word on it using the same letters before passing it to her. "This is how you write your name."

"Oh, how lovely!" she exclaimed, her shame forgotten as she examined the letters with extreme interest. "Now I wish I knew how to write in Cyrillic. The letters make me name look so pretty."

"Herm-own-ninny, your name is already very beautiful."

"You're joking, right? It's practically unknown! But I suppose my parents were only trying to be creative." She sighed. When she was sure the ink was dry enough she tucked the small piece of paper into one of the pockets of her planner.

"Still very beautiful," he insisted, smiling when she blushed faintly. "But if you want to learn I can teach you."

"Oh, I'm sure you're busy enough as it is, Viktor."

"I will make time for you."

"You will never sleep if you do!"

He snorted. "Sleep, Herm-own-ninny, is for lesser men."

She raised a brow at that. "I don't care what kind of men sleep, I'd like you to be alive and well _especially_ if you're competing in a life-threatening tournament."

He grinned. "You worrying about me?"

"Of- of course I'd worry!" she sputtered, turning pink. "Contestants have actually died in the past! It's why the games were discontinued for such a long time. You really shouldn't be taking this so lightly, Viktor."

"I am not, don't worry," he said reassuringly. "I know is dangerous. I am being careful."

"Good," she said, narrowing her eyes at his still-lingering grin. "I don't know what you're grinning about now, but if you're just going to do that then I'll just get back to work."

She shuffled parchment paper and books around her space, grumbling under her breath when he chuckled, and only settled on an essay when all the right books and notes were laid open or propped against other books in front of her. Before he knew it she was back in her own world.

Viktor got himself immersed in his own work soon afterwards, only occasionally glancing over his papers at his companion. Sometimes he'd find her twirling a curl from her bushy mane between her fingers as she skimmed a few pages from one books, and other times he'd catch her absently running the feathery tip of her quill over her chin as her eyes darted over the lines of an essay draft. He found it especially difficult to focus whenever he'd catch her biting her lower lip, so he ducked low into his own tower of books and only looked up again when he heard her sigh or shuffle. He noted another, smaller streak of black under the now dried one on her cheek and had to bite his cheek to prevent himself from laughing.

"Viktor?"

Her voice was so low, so timid, that he wouldn't have heard it if the library hadn't been deserted. He noticed that she wasn't looking at him, but at the feather of his quill.

"I was– I was wondering if– if you'd–" her cheeks turned bright red. Whatever it was she wanted to say she seemed to have changed her mind about it as she shook her head and switched back to her usual friendly, somewhat calmed self. "Would you like to send your letter now? The owlery is not too far from here and most of the school's owls have no doubt returned by now."

He blinked. "I don't mind waiting."

"Oh, I'm finished for today– or were you talking about your own work? I'm sorry, Viktor, I–"

"Is ok, we go now. I don't know where owlery is." he lied, having crossed it many times in his nightly wanderings of the castle but wanting more than anything to put her at ease.

She was quiet the whole way to the owlery. His gnawing curiosity at whatever it was she couldn't say was nearly overlapping his concern. Had something happened to her since the Yule Ball? Things seemed fine between her and Ron last time he checked, or had they already gotten into another fight? She'd probably be more angry than frightened if they did.

Karkaroff had said that dark times were coming. Viktor had been too busy getting worked up over being lectured on blood purity to ask him what he meant by that.

The owlery was a large, circular stony room with floors covered in hay and littered with droppings and bones of small animals. He had passed it many times already but he never thought of looking in, mostly because whenever he'd try merely twisting the door handle he'd be instantly assaulted by the angry hoots of many sleepy owls. It wasn't as grand as the other rooms in the castle, but he really wasn't expecting much considering that it's meant to house animals. It was much colder, in fact, but he assumes it's due to the large glassless windows.

True to her words, the perches on the walls were full of owls recently returned from delivering or receiving Christmas gifts. A white snowy owl was the first to spot them walking through the door. It hooted once then swooped down to stand on the perch closest to Hermione.

"Hello, Hedwig," Hermione greeted in passing as she went to look over the school's owls.

"Your owl?" he asked, running his fingers over the soft feathers of Hedwig's wing. The bird tilted her head at him curiously. "She's beautiful."

"She's Harry's," she replied as she eased a sleepy-looking grey owl from it's perch. "Oh don't worry, she doesn't bite! That's just her way of showing affection." She quickly added when she saw him flinch when Hedwig nipped his finger. "Harry really loves it when she does that, or when she does anything really! She's his first pet and real friend, I guess, so he's quite fond of her."

Viktor nodded, stroking Hedwig once again and this time allowing her to gently nip at his fingers when they got too close to her beak. He distinctly heard Hermione attempt to persuade the grey owl into giving her a talon to tie the letter to, but the bird didn't look too happy with the prospect of flying all the way to Bulgaria as opposed to sleeping in. Viktor only stopped admiring Hedwig when he heard Hermione's gasp combined with the rapid flutter of really small wings and a disgruntled hoot from the grey owl.

A small, round puff of feathers was zooming in circles around Hermione's head, hooting nonstop and causing her to duck and flinch every time he got too close to her hair. Viktor closed the distance between them in one stride and swiftly closed his palms over the flying menace.

"You are ok, Herm-own-ninny?" he asked, feeling the small creature wiggle in his palms. Its hoots were muffled behind the enclosure of Viktor's large hands but that didn't seem to discourage it.

To his surprise she laughed. "I'm alright, Viktor, don't worry! That's just Pigwidgeon."

"Pig– what?" He wasn't even going to bother trying.

"Ron's owl," she said, placing her hands on his palms to ease them apart wide enough to allow the tiny bird to poke its head out of the opening. If owls had the ability to grin Viktor was certain that Pigwidgeon would be displaying a very mischievous one right now. "He's very friendly, but also very enthusiastic especially when given the task of delivering letters. I would send him instead of Earnest, of course, but he's just so small and it's such a long way from here!"

"Also this time Bulgaria is very cold," he said, stroking the bird's head with his thumb. "I don't think this little one can take it." The bird nipped hard on the thumb stroking his head, or as hard as his tiny beak could which Viktor barely even felt. Viktor smiled. "I think I am offending. I am sorry, little owl."

Hermione grinned. "Just give him owl treats later and he'll forget all about it." The owl perked up at hearing that and hooted and wiggled in Viktor's hands some more. Hermione shook her head at the sight. "Alright, I think it's safe to let him go now."

He allowed her to ease his palms open and the little owl immediately took wing. They watched it soar to the very top of the tower and through one window only to zoom back through another, making several owls hoot in fright and irritation. He looked at Hermione when he heard her giggling and realized that they were still standing very close to each other, not quite touching but only a breath away, and that her hands were still cradling his.

He remained in a trance until she pulled away, completely unaware of the spell she's had him under as she continued talking on her way to retrieve Earnest.

He shook his head. "What?"

"Your letter, Viktor," she said as she finally managed to tie the scroll to Earnest's leg. "Whom shall I address it to?"

"Stefan Krum. I think he is in Sofia now, or maybe Plovdiv or Varna or Veliko Tarnovo. I don't now, but I think is best if you deliver to Krum manor. Sergei will take it for him and–" he stopped himself. He suddenly realized that he's giving instructions to an owl. Hermione burst out laughing as Earnest hooted irritably. "Krum manor is ok," he muttered sheepishly, easing the bird from Hermione's hand and taking him to the one of the windows. It took flight before Viktor could extend his arm beyond the frame.

"It's alright, he'll find him," said Hermione as she stood next to him, giggling still. "All he needs is a name. I still don't understand how they manage to do it, but they do."

Pigwidgeon landed on Viktor's shoulder. He hooted and pecked at his ear. Viktor reached a hand to grab him again but this time the owl was ready for him as he flew out of his reach to land on his other shoulder and peck at his other ear. Viktor tried grabbing him again but Pigwidgeon hopped on his head and started yanking on a strand of short dark hair.

"Pigwidgeon, that's not polite!" Hermione scolded lightly as she stood on her toes to scoop the fussing bird into her hands. "I'm sorry, he's quite persistent. The treats are on the shelves by the door, just make sure you get the ones from the boxes, _not_ the jars. The owls are absolutely obsessed with those and I don't think it'd be wise to open one in the presence of so many!"

He froze just as he unscrewed the lid of one of the jars, feeling the very air itself around him still as did the owls of all breeds and sizes and temperaments. He suddenly remembered catching a glimpse of the talons of some of the bigger ones and briefly wondering if their owners handled them with gloves.

"Viktor, don't move," Hermione whispered fearfully.

The room was too quiet. Not even the sound of rustling feathers could be heard. Viktor had his back to them but he knew that all eyes of black, ember, and gold were staring at him, waiting for him to turn and bracing themselves for a group aerial attack. His wand was tucked into his robe pocket. He'd have no problem retrieving it, but not without putting the jar and its lid down. He can't predict how fast these owls are or how well they work as a team, but he can't stay in such a vulnerable position either.

 _Idiot, you fought a dragon!_

He very slowly placed the lid on the shelf, testing his predators. Nothing moved, and for a moment he thought it safe to grab his wand but Hermione's scream behind him and the flutter of hundreds of wings made him spin around on instinct, a mistake he would soon regret.

It all happened too fast, even for one such as Viktor who is accustomed to speed. They were practically an organized armed force in the way they moved and cooperated with each other, and they could probably take down an entire country if they set their minds to it. He was quickly disarmed by a barn owl that dug its talons into the hand clutching his wand, making him hiss in pain and instantly drop his wand. He didn't have time to grab it. His vision was obscured by feathers of all colors and as his hearing was blocked by frantic hooting. He felt a stinging kind of pain on the exposed parts of his skin that he assumed were fresh scratches and the increasingly heavy weight of too many owls that managed to land themselves a spot on his head and shoulders.

It got to the point where he couldn't open his eyes lest one owl scratches them out, so he did the next logical thing he could think of in such circumstances. He tossed the jar to the side and heard it breaking with a loud crash. The air around him was suddenly cleared as all birds swiftly flew to grab one or several pieces of the treats that laid scattered on the ground amidst hay and shards of glass. He opened his eyes and lowered his arms from his face just as Hermione, who was running towards him to help, tripped over a crack. He rushed forward on instinct to grab her but slipped on a stray piece of glass and fell backwards, taking her with him and leaving a cloud of dust in their wake.

He groaned. _Everything_ hurt, but at least he's not seriously injured. He could still perform in the tournament. The hay had broken his fall and he could barely feel Hermione's weight on top of him–

His eyes shot open. He felt his cheeks burn. She was on top of him, and it didn't help that she had her hands on his chest and that he had an arm secured around her lower back, or that she was looking up at him from behind her eyelashes with cheeks possibly even redder than his. Their faces were mere inches apart but they were both unable to move, seemingly pinned in place by a pair of strong invisible hands.

Pigwidgeon zoomed close by their heads. His ecstatic hoots seemed to relieve that pressure as Hermione yelped and quickly removed herself to sit on the ground next to him. Viktor slowly sat up and winced as the pain of his fall shot through his spine.

"You're hurt!" she gasped, finally taking in the many cuts on his hands, neck, and face. "Oh Viktor, I'm so sorry! This is all my fault, I should've gotten the treats myself, I really–"

"Is ok, Herm-own-ninny!" he said quickly when he saw her eyes tearing up, placing a hand on her shoulder reassuringly only to quickly withdraw it when he felt her tensing. "I'm ok. I have something for cuts, is ok."

He can't decide what's worse, Cedric's possibly suggestive comments or smelling like grass for maybe a week this time. Although he _does_ like the smell…

"You- you have a feather in your hair," she said timidly, biting hard on her lower lip in an attempt to stifle a laugh.

Viktor raised a brow. _She_ was definitely one to talk with hay sticking out of every direction from her hair, which somehow got even bushier than he thought possible.

"You've got all kinds of feathers in your hair, actually," she added, her voice shaking slightly as she outright struggled maintain her laughter.

He snorted, and responded by reaching forward and pulling a long piece of hay from her hair. She gasped and frantically ran her fingers through her curls, flushing a deeper shade of red as more pieces of hay fell all around her.

"Oh god!" she whimpered, taking in her hair's tangled state and at the many stubborn straws clinging to it still. "Oh, stupid hair! I'd shave it off if I could!"

"No," he said, inching towards her and gently lowering her fists from her locks. "You don't say that again. Is very beautiful."

She glared at him, her eyes tearing up again but this time from embarrassment.

"You think I lie?" he asked, then scoffed as he started picking out the remaining pieces. "You are lucky. You hair is not falling, you have much of it when many girls they get extra put in. Is also very soft, and has a nice color–"

"It's brown!"

" _Natural_ brown, nice winter color, not dead from chemicals making darker or lighter."

"Yes, alright, but it didn't really make me a girl until I fixed it for the Yule Ball."

He stopped and leaned back to look at her. She was glaring ahead still but he didn't fail to notice her eyes rapidly blinking away tears.

"You hair from ball was nice, I like it," he said, then hesitated before taking the curl close to her cheek in his fingers, making her look at him. He smiled. "But I like this better. This is Herm-own-ninny, and I like–" he stopped and quickly pulled himself away, already feeling another blush creeping up his face at the almost-confession. He felt her eyes on him still as he cleared his throat and started brushing the feathers off his hair, looking at _anything_ but her face. "You no listen to Hogwarts boys. They are boys, they know nothing."

 _Never mind that you are acting like a boy talking to a girl for the first time._

"At least the owls won't go hungry tonight," she muttered after an awkward, lengthy silence, staring at the cluster of birds still feeding on the ground close by with an amused expression on her face. He snorted in response, and when another awkward silence threatened to follow she hastily asked: "Do you have a pet?"

He was startled by the sudden question, but grateful for the diversion nonetheless. "Yes. I have turtle."

She looked at him, eyebrows raised. "A _turtle?"_

"Yes, I call him Odin the Terrible."

"Why terrible?"

"Because he is a terrible little beast, but he is always biting cousin I hate so I keep him. I like him, even if he is sometimes biting me."

"And why do you hate that cousin?"

"He is always saying my turtle is terrible."

"But I thought Odin _is_ terrible."

"He is, but idiot cousin is not allowed to call him that."

"Oh. Alright then."

She was quiet. She then laughed, so suddenly and loudly that it startled the few owls nearby.

"What is funny?" he asked, smiling a little despite himself at the sight of her leaning back and holding her sides.

"Oh, nothing!" she replied, laughing still as she wiped away a stray tear. "I was just thinking– you're the fastest Seeker in the world and you've got one of the slowest animals as a pet!"

He chuckled along, seeing the irony himself for the first time despite having had Odin since he was a child. "Now I am wishing I name him Speed."

"It would definitely make the joke better, but I don't think Speed the Terrible has a nice ring to it, not like Odin the Terrible," she said. She was staring at him again but she was smiling and this time she appeared far more relaxed. There was a twinkle in her eyes that made him feel all warm and giddy again, despite the stinging cuts on his face and his sore back. "Viktor, what are you doing this weekend?"

He felt his heart stop then pick up speed. He tried not to get his hopes up, not when she would be normally jumpy and flustered when it comes to these things, but he had wanted to ask her himself once he finds his courage again and couldn't help but _hope_ because it would mean so much more if it came from her instead.

"Nothing," he said. The truth is he's got homework but he'll cram.

She took a deep breath, a silver of her usual jittery, nervous self finally making an appearance to confirm his suspicion. "Viktor, would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me this Saturday?"

* * *

Viktor managed to find Cedric with Fleur before suppertime.

"I'm beginning to think that you're not very good with animals," said Cedric, taking in Viktor's scratched-up state with a raised eyebrow.

Viktor was grinning from ear to ear, showing what Karkaroff would _definitely_ classify as 'too much', but he was too over the moon to care about anything or anyone. Let the press take their pictures if they want, let them write about it and do their absolute worst, at that precise moment nothing mattered to him. He was happy.

"No matter," said Viktor, plopping down on the bench next to Fleur. "I have date."

Cedric chuckled. "As happy as I am for you, Krum, I fear that this relationship will eventually put you in a wheelchair."

"No matter, I have date and she is important," Viktor repeatedly stubbornly.

"Alright, Romeo," said Cedric, grinning as he rose from his place on Fleur's other side. "You can tell me all about it when I return with the serum."

Viktor watched Cedric disappear into the hallway. He then frowned and turned to Fleur. "Who is Romeo?"

"And how would I know?" she replied crossly.

"You are his friend," his shrugged, then smirked. "You know Cho? She is nice."

"Of course I know her," she huffed. "Why do you ask?"

"I like her. She is very nice. I am thinking Diggory likes her too. Did you know?"

"Of course I do. They are together now."

"Ah, very good! They look nice together. Diggory was very happy with Cho at ball. Cho is also very pretty, maybe prettiest girl after Herm-own-ninny, and I think Diggory–"

"I get it!" she snapped, giving him an icy glare as she crossed her arms over her chest. "My goodness, this girl is making you _annoyingly_ talkative!"

He sighed and leaned back into the bench with a smile, satisfied with his work. He brought his intertwined fingers behind his head. "Today is good day, no?"

" _Why don't you go fuck yourself?"_

He blinked. " _You speak Bulgarian?"_

She responded with a haughty smile and her signature hair flip.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Apologies for the delay! This chapter proved to be quite a... challenging one to complete, and then for some reason Fanfiction wouldn't let me post it. Anyway, it's up now and that's all that matters, but once again I must apologise for the delay. I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

He found Earnest perched at his window. Viktor's eyes were instantly drawn to his family crest engraved on the red wax seal keeping the tiny scroll from unfurling. He quickly let the owl in and untied the scroll from his leg. It read, in a perfect reflection of his father's abrupt and direct manner:

 _Why do you ask?_ _Have you been approached? I expect an immediate reply._

He stared down at the small paper in his hands, his thick eyebrows drawing closer with every revise. The letter– or note, rather, made no sense whatsoever. Viktor sensed some kind of urgency but he had no idea how to address it or what kind of fears he was expected to put to rest. What exactly did his father mean by whether or not he's been approached? He's an international Quidditch superstar; he's _always_ being approached!

He made a frustrated sound, then crumpled the small piece of paper into a pebble-sized ball and tossed it in the bin. He tried shoving Earnest through the window and out of his room a couple of times, but he kept flying back in. He snapped his beak rather aggressively when Viktor tried to grab his legs and force him out, making him curse in his native tongue and momentarily consider giving the bird over to the ship's cook.

" _Father set you up to this? Fine then!"_ he growled, yanking the drawer of his desk open and taking out a quill, some ink, and parchment paper. " _What Lord Krum wants, Lord Krum gets."_

He tore a piece then returned the rest into the drawer and slammed it shut. He slid into his chair and smoothed down the small piece of parchment before dipping his quill in ink. His reply was a single line, a request rather than an answer, for Viktor had grown too frustrated to care for consequences and for once he wanted his father to have a taste of his own medicine:

 _Please just answer the question._

He started regretting his decision when Earnest became a distant, tiny dot in the sky. Men who challenged his father seldom lived to tell the tale…

He sighed, slumping back into his chair. It was certainly too late to apologise now, not that he really wanted to. Consequences are damned, he decided. It's important that he knows if a storm is coming.

* * *

He smiled when saw her walking along the riverbank towards the ship. She wasn't wearing her usual school robes. Viktor realised that it's only the second time he's seen her in something different and he found that he liked it. Her school robes hid too much of her personality and the dress she wore to the ball only enhanced her physical beauty. Her jeans, boots, coat, and the too long, overtly wooly red-and-gold scarf wrapped around her neck pointed to small aspects of her personality that only the people who knew her would appreciate.

"Hi," she said when she finally reached him.

"Hello," he said, looking her over. He was immensely flattered to find that she had put some effort into her appearance, not that he thought she ever needed to. Her hair was brushed away from her face and held in place by her beanie, and he couldn't really tell but she may or may not have applied some make up. "You look nice."

"Thank you," she said, blushing faintly. "Ready to go?"

He offered her his arm. She took it. "Lead the way."

He remembered to change his appearance when he spotted the crowd from the distance. He decided to go for something light in his haste and transfigured into a silvery-blond, blue-eyed version of himself. He was capable of even more radical changes, but that simple bit impressed her anyway and he couldn't help but feel a swell of pride at her compliments. He was even tempted to show her his shark transformation, but he decided that he'd rather see the look on her face when he reveals that particular skill in the second task.

The small village was quite charming, however crammed it felt at the moment, but according to Hermione that was only because of post-Christmas sales in some of the boutiques. The cobblestoned path they trudged upon and the roofs of the many houses and stores they passed were covered in a thick layer of snow. Although most of the Christmas decorations have already been removed, the lingering fairy lights and the warm glow of oil-lit streetlamps made the village look like a Christmas town trapped in a snow globe.

His eyes wandered as he listened to her recount the history of the village and some interesting trivia about a certain street or cottage or person. He was apprehensive of the growing number of shoppers bustling around them, shoppers of all age of which a great number were wearing his jersey or his team's scarf. He was suddenly afraid that his disguise might slip, or worse yet, one fan would recognize him, and he would've cursed his carelessness had someone actually _did_ recognize him. He got second glances but that's as far as it went for no one recognized him, not even those washed in his team's colors. He was walking through the crowd as a regular boy on a date with a girl he liked.

He allowed himself to relax and to let his guard down. It felt… nice. He decided to take advantage of the situation and to not let his luck go to waste. He gently tugged his arm free of Hermione's light hold, making her falter mid-speech, before grabbing her hand and slipping his gloved fingers through hers. He gave her a moment to pull back but she merely looked up at him, lips slightly parted and cheeks dusted pink.

He squeezed her hand. "You were talking about a haunted house."

"Oh…? Oh, yes!" she shook her head, clearing her throat. "It's a shack, actually, and it's not really haunted. The villagers just assume it is because of the unexplained howls and shrieks they sometimes hear from within, not to mention that no one's actually lived in it for god knows how long! But there's nothing in there, it's really just an old abandoned shack…"

He let her talk her nervousness away uninterrupted, fearing that he may have overstepped his boundaries, but then she started to relax and even pull him towards the many sights she was referring to. He was surprised when she pulled them into _Spintwitches Sporting Needs,_ a crowded, brightly lit shop that specialized in all things to do with sports and absolutely nothing that could possibly pique her interest.

"I've been here with Ron and Harry a couple of times before but I never really bothered to look at anything," she explained, shyly ducking her head. "But I thought that _you_ might be interested. Of course you wouldn't really need any of the equipment, but they've got other… Quidditch related things, I'm assuming?"

He grinned, then bent down and kissed her gloved fingers. "Thank you for thinking of me."

And he truly meant it, for once not merely using her kindness as an excuse to kiss or to hold her. The few women he tried dating before her had never thought of what he wanted to do or where he wanted to go. They never even bothered asking, but simply dragged him from a fancy restaurant reservation to one high-end store to the next. In most cases he ended up paying for their purchases, of which afterwards very few of the recipients returned his letters and invitations answered. With that small gesture Hermione made him feel wanted for reasons besides his fame and his family's overflowing vaults, and most importantly it was an indication that she was _trying_ to meet his advances halfway through.

He had to release her hand when they ventured deeper into the store but she remained close by. She was stopped a couple of times by her school friends, and whenever one fancied a glance over her shoulder he made do with examining whatever shelf closest to him to avoid detection. The third time he did it he came face to face with his own signature on a jersey framed on the wall next to many other items supposedly owned or signed or touched by other famous athletes.

"Is it authentic?" Hermione asked next to him once she managed to shake off her friends.

Viktor shrugged. "Maybe. I am not remembering. I signed many things."

"Anything strange or unusual?"

He snorted. "If not, is slow day. Once a woman tried to make me sign her baby."

"Please tell me you didn't!"

"Of course not. I change her mind."

"How did you do that?"

He flushed and averted his eyes. "Well, she say she is wanting my signature on her baby or on her breast, so… I signed her breast."

"That's… that's just…!" she stuttered, hopelessly groping for the right word to describe her shock. "So utterly inconsiderate and… and… _vulgar_! Did she even consider that she'd be embarrassing you with her request?"

"She came back after one hour. Showed me her new tattoo."

"You're joking."

He shook his head. "My signature is on some woman's breast. She did not even take me to dinner."

She smacked his arm lightly. "You shouldn't joke about these things! She was harassing you, Viktor. You shouldn't have had to put up with it. Why didn't you have her escorted out?"

"Is my job, Herm-own-ninny, I can't say No."

"No it's not!" she said stubbornly. "You're a Quidditch player, not some… not an entertainer of someone's perverted fantasies and requests!"

He shrugged. "I don't mind entertaining the fantasies of ladies."

He received another smack to the arm, this time harder.

"I joke, Herm-own-ninny," he said with a chuckle, easing her threatening fist back to her side. "But if you don't want, I will not do it again."

"Do what, sign stuff?"

"I have to sign stuff, Herm-own-ninny. Just not breasts."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Viktor, how many breasts have you signed?"

He decided it was best not to answer that. "No matter, it will be in the past if you want."

"Why does it matter what I want? This is about _your_ comfort."

He sighed, and then tugged her closer. She gasped softly when he brushed his fingers over her cheek. The skin felt soft and warm underneath his fingertips, even before the rush of blood in her veins tainted it. "Sometimes you ask silly questions," he murmured.

"Y-yes, well– _oh_!" a group of rowdy boys unintentionally shoved her closer towards him on their way to the exit. Her free hand came up to support her on instinct but stopped abruptly to hover over his chest. Her blush deepened. She cleared her throat and lowered her eyes. "We should probably go somewhere else, if you haven't found anything you'd like to purchase. It's getting a little crowded in here and… a little stuffy."

Little did she know, the boys that shoved her had actually made her in control of the situation. He was oddly fine with it, except for the overwhelming urge to kiss her taking over his senses now that she's close enough for the task. A part of him was convinced that she wouldn't mind being kissed by him, but the more sensible part continued to scream: _not here!_

It was too public, even for him. That's not how he'd want her to remember their first kiss. It's not how _he_ would want to remember it.

He stepped back but he kept her hand. "Take me to your favorite place."

She gave him a weak smile, her cheeks pink still. She threaded her fingers through his and led them out into the cold. She didn't detangle her hand from his to slip on her glove. If anything, she seemed content with the warmth of his skin. Viktor himself didn't care much for the weather as long as she continued running her thumb over his.

Her favorite place turned out to be a bookstore. Viktor wasn't even remotely surprised. He remembered Poliakoff mentioning it and immediately assumed that she not only knows it, but is also a frequent customer. He didn't need the salesclerk enthusiastic greetings to further confirm it.

He couldn't blame her. He himself was impressed with the bookstore, however small and cluttered it felt compared to the many he's been to in his lifetime. It was practically empty of customers compared to _Spintwitches Sporting Needs_ and it smelled strongly of fresh parchment and dust. His eyes caught Cyrillic letters on a shelf not too far from them and he was immediately drawn to the more familiar text. He was pleased to find that they were language-learning books, of which several were of different learning levels written by many authors to choose from.

Hermione excused herself to look for something to do with magical aquatic life, or at least that's what it sounded like. He was too busy looking for a Bulgarian-English text or dictionary. The few he found seemed a bit advanced for him, so he decided to check the Russian ones.

" _Hey, you finally came!_ "

He whirled around and nearly dropped the book in his hand, his startled expression quickly switching to an annoyed glare at the sight of Poliakoff standing with his own selection of books.

" _I said your name three times. I'm not going to apologize for scaring you."_ He said, looking down at the title of the book in Viktor's hand.

" _What are you doing here?"_ he asked, looking at Poliakoff's own selection with a frown. Has he always been interested in arts and craft?

" _Valentine's coming up,"_ he said simply _. "I'm not very good with the arts, you see, but I thought I'd try building something for Miss Luna."_ His brows knitted in concentration. _"What was the name of that creature? Blasted Horned Snarling...? Either way I have its description memorized."_

" _Whatever it is I highly doubt it's real."_

Poliakoff chuckled. " _Of course it's not real, but she believes so strongly in it that I can't help but humor her. Anyway, she's a lovely girl and I want to repay her for asking me to the ball. Are you here looking for something for your girlfriend, then?"_

Viktor turned back towards the bookshelf with a scowl. He slid the book in his hand back in its place. " _She's not my girlfriend."_

" _No? I could've sworn you'd be together by now, seeing how close you were at the ball."_

" _Yes, well, I could've sworn Karkaroff would've killed you by now for that little dance."_

Viktor was pleased to see him flush. " _Y-yea, well, you're not the first to assume that he may or may not want to kill me someday…"_

He faltered, suddenly feeling guilty. He hadn't meant to sound harsh, but he couldn't help it. He was paranoid. Poliakoff was never friendly towards him. If anything he seemed intimidated of Viktor, and would always make a point of avoiding him, except for now when he's prodding and being more talkative that he's ever been before in his life.

Viktor swallowed. " _I'm looking for something to help me improve my English."_

" _Oh yes, I noticed the books you were carrying,"_ he said, perking up instantly and coming to stand next to Viktor to look over the titles on the shelf. " _Your English is really not as bad as you think, so you can skip the beginner's guide and have a try at something a little more advanced."_ He caught the spine of one and pulled it out. He skimmed through the pages before giving it a nod of approval. " _This is good, I think. If you want you can look into the first chapter before buying it."_

Viktor took the offered book. " _It's alright, I trust your judgment. Thank you."_

Poliakoff smiled. " _Happy to help."_

Viktor stifled a groan at Ivanna's silver blonde head that appeared at the end of the row in search of Poliakoff. She smirked as she made her way towards them.

" _I thought I heard something unpleasant_ ," she said, coming to stand next to Poliakoff, looking haughtily up at Viktor.

" _What, your own voice?"_ said Viktor with his own smirk.

" _Come on, you two, not now!_ " interjected Poliakoff, his tone more pleading that stern. " _Karkaroff is not here to stop you from burning this place to the ground and I rather like it, so please save your quarrel for a more safe and supervised environment."_

Viktor nodded, putting his hands up in submission. He wouldn't want to destroy Hermione's favorite place, anyway.

" _Please, I have better things to do with my time,"_ said Ivanna, rolling her eyes. _"Did you get everything you need? Markus is waiting for us."_

" _He's here already? Ah, that was quick! I was hoping to find an arts and craft shop, but I suppose I'll have to leave that for another day…"_ Poliakoff's eyes trailed to Viktor and they widened, either struck with an idea or shocked to see that he was still standing. To Viktor's dismay it turned out to be the first. " _Hey, why don't you join us?"_

" _What?!"_

It came from both Ivanna and Viktor. They looked at each other then back at Poliakoff smiling still and seemingly unaware or uncaring of the fact that his suggestion would likely initiate a bloody war.

" _Are you out of your mind?!"_

 _"_ _I'm busy."_

Again they spoke in union. They glared at each other, an instant silent battle for dominance taking place between them while Poliakoff stared in confusion.

" _Why not?"_ he asked innocently. " _He's here on his own and we're three together, four with him. The bigger the company the better."_

Viktor was about to make up an excuse related to the tournament when another voice interrupted.

"Viktor, are you finished here? I couldn't find what I need, but if you still want to– oh!"

Ivanna raised a thin pale eyebrow and smirked, crossing her arms over her chest. Poliakoff's smile turned warm and friendly when he leaned to the side to look past Viktor's frame blocking his view. Viktor shot them both a quick warning glare before turning away himself to face Hermione.

Hermione was looking nervously between Ivanna and Poliakoff. She settled for Poliakoff's friendlier demeanour and offered him a small smile. "Um… hello."

"Hi!" Poliakoff greeted enthusiastically, edging around Viktor. "I'm so sorry, I thought Viktor was here alone." He then took Hermione's hand and kissed it. "I'm Dmitri Poliakoff."

"That's alright, Dmitri. I'm Hermione Granger."

Ivanna walked past Viktor to introduce herself, grasping the hand Poliakoff released. "Ivanna Morozova. Don't worry, I won't kiss your hand." She said with a playful smile.

Hermione chuckled. "It's alright if you do, I think I'm getting used to it."

"Don't be like that, Ivanna," said Poliakoff with a grin. "You make it sound so horrible. We're only supposed to do it when we first introduce ourselves. More will come, of course, if the lady requests it."

" _Really_?" Hermione placed her hands on her hips and looked up at Viktor. He was pretending to be fascinated by the cover of his book and trying his hardest to ignore the blush creeping up his face. It would take all his will and strength to _not_ murder both Poliakoff and Ivanna in their sleep for this.

Poliakoff nodded, unaware of the damage he just caused. "Well, my offer still stands and this time it includes you! We are meeting our friend at _The Three Broomsticks_ and we'd love it if you two joined us- assuming, of course, that you don't have anything planned? It's alright if you do, we really wouldn't want to interrupt anything!"

It was now Hermione's turn to blush at the implication behind Poliakoff's words. If he were to go through with his plan of killing them in their sleep, thought Viktor, he would definitely go for Poliakoff first.

"Oh, I– I don't– I don't mind, I mean I–" she stuttered, her large brown eyes flickering nervously to Viktor before quickly looking away when she caught his own blush. "I was going to take him there eventually…"

"Wonderful, so you don't have anything planned!" said Poliakoff with a clap, urging her towards the checkout counter. "Now I must insist that you join us!"

Hermione threw Viktor an apologetic look from over her shoulders before they disappeared around the corner.

Ivanna was smiling by his side, looking very pleased with herself. Viktor narrowed his eyes at her, suspicious and a little bit paranoid at the sudden change of heart. She looked him over once before flipping her long ponytail off her shoulder and strolling towards where Hermione and Poliakoff disappeared.

Viktor sighed. His shoulders slumped. It seemed that his luck was running out. Poliakoff was fine, but Ivanna and Markus together would surely be a challenge…

Hermione was very quickly warming up to Poliakoff and it unnerved Viktor. He found it difficult to tear his eyes from the two of them walking ahead of him and Ivanna, and more so to convince himself that her hand on Poliakoff's arm meant nothing and that it didn't matter that his skill with the English language surpassed Viktor's and made for an easier, more pleasant conversation. Poliakoff and Viktor and the majority of Durmstrang were raised the same, Viktor tried reasoning with himself. He was only being courteous, as they were taught to, and Hermione wasn't the first to laugh and to willingly engage in whatever conversation he initiated. It's simply where his gift lies, for what he lacked in basic spell work he made up for with a tongue skilled for adapting to foreign speech and for storytelling. It often incited laughter when his antics didn't.

Still he couldn't help the envy slithering beneath his ribs and coiling around his heart, turning his previously neutral feelings towards Poliakoff into something hideous and unwelcome.

" _I really hope you're not jealous of Poliakoff,"_ said Ivanna next to him, startling him out of his dark thoughts. " _It's pathetic, coming from someone like you. I'd rather not think that the champion representing my school is anything but the sort."_

He didn't even realise he was glaring at their back. It alarmed him more than Ivanna's interruption, this sudden possessiveness he didn't know he had, and he wants nothing more than to splash ice cold water on his face to rid himself of it the same way he would a terrible dream.

Hermione is not a mouldable object. He liked her because she was anything but that _especially_ around him, and Poliakoff is not the devious kind nor as complex and knowledgeable as Hermione. He is good with people and he knows too many foreign languages to count, but he's also a simple man with simple interests and simple desires and no lust for glory or for the unattainable. He wouldn't have placed his name in the Goblet of Fire had Karkaroff not forced him to.

Ivanna remained quiet the rest of the way and Viktor was grateful for it. It gave him the chance to compose himself and to sort his thoughts.

They were instantly warmed when they entered the crowded, lively pub and they were quick to discard their heavy cloaks. Markus's large frame was easy to spot even while seated. He waved them over and then laughed when he saw Viktor and Hermione approaching. " _I have never seen a sight more beautiful than Krum getting cockblocked!"_

Viktor glared at him, for once very much grateful that Hermione didn't speak their language. " _Not all of us think with our dicks, Markus."_

 _"_ _Sure, if you're a woman!"_

"Stop it you two," Poliakoff cut in, frowning disapprovingly at the two of them. "We shouldn't speak Bulgarian in front of our guest when she doesn't know the language. It's very rude." He then turned to Hermione. "I'm so terribly sorry about that."

Hermione was quick to dismiss his apologies. "It's alright, I'm not offended, and really you're the guests here! _I_ should be treating you and taking you to places."

"Nonsense! Your Headmaster is doing a fine job with all the necessary formalities. The only thing you should do is make yourself comfortable with us, as you would with your Hogwarts friends." She smiled warmly at that, and accepted his hand that led her towards their chosen table. "This here is Markus."

Markus took her hand from Poliakoff's and kissed it. "Hello. You…girl very…" he frowned, straining hard for the right English word. "very… ah! Yes, very sexy girl."

Poliakoff grimaced at his choice of words and Hermione faltered, flushing a deep crimson and looking torn between being terribly embarrassed or terribly intimidated by Markus's large, towering mass of pure muscle grinning down at her. If Viktor thought he didn't like Poliakoff's approach earlier, then he without a doubt _hated_ Markus's very inappropriate choice of words.

"Oh… urm… t-thank you…?" she stammered, smiling nervously and attempting to gently free her hand from his tight grip. Markus appeared oblivious to her discomfort as he continued grinning dumbly and stroking her hand with his other large one.

" _Beautiful,"_ said Viktor between his teeth. " _The word you were looking for is beautiful, Markus."_

" _Whatever, Krum._ _Water under the bridge, as they'd say."_

 _"_ _Apologise. Now."_

He smirked. " _Afraid I'd steal her from you? I hardly doubt a toothpick like you can stop me."_

 _"_ _Is that an invitation to a duel?"_ he asked, his hand reaching for his wand on instinct.

" _Enough, both of you,"_ hissed Ivanna. She turned her fiery eyes to Markus and he flinched and released Hermione before she said, " _Let go of her hand."_ She then turned to Hermione. "Please excuse Markus. His English is terrible. I don't know where he learned that word, but he meant to say that you're beautiful." She seemed to trust Ivanna's word as her tense frame slackened in relief. "And you are, of course."

Hermione appeared immensely flattered by the compliment. " _Me?_ Surely not compared to you, Ivanna. I saw you at the ball with Blaise Zabini. You looked absolutely gorgeous!"

Ivanna looked just as pleased with her own received compliment. "Thank you, but it was wasted on scum like Zabini."

"I'm so sorry. I hope he wasn't too horrible with you."

She scoffed. "Please. I had worse dates."

"Well, for future reference, in Hogwarts you're definitely allowed to hex boys if they harass you under circumstances that lack staff supervision. I checked myself when I first heard that we're hosting the Triwizard Tournament."

Ivanna smiled and linked her arm through hers. "You know, I really like you. Let's get drinks and leave the men to sort out their problems. If we're lucky, they will break their faces and nothing here that will demand compensation."

Hermione grinned. "Have you tried Butterbeer?"

"I think they were serving it at the ball, but I don't know if I want butter in my beer."

Hermione laughed. "It's not alcoholic, or beer for that matter! I actually don't know why they call it Butterbeer because it's got neither butter nor beer in it, but it's really good! It's a personal favourite of mine…"

Their voices were soon drowned by the conversations around them as they made their way towards the bar at the other end of the room. Viktor kept his eyes on them until they disappeared into the crowd, more suspicious than ever of Ivanna's sudden friendliness towards Hermione for she rarely smiled at strangers to begin with let, alone allow herself to get so close and cozy in such a short amount of time.

" _So what do you think?"_ asked Poliakoff once they took their seats.

Viktor shook his head, tearing his eyes from the crowd. " _About what?"_

 _"_ _The village, of course! It's quite something, isn't it? Have you been to Honeydukes? It's where I got the flavoured beans."_

" _I think I'll skip that,"_ said Viktor, making a disgusted face. Poliakoff laughed. _"But the village… it's nice. I like it."_

 _"_ _Where else have you been?"_

 _"_ _Spintwitches Sporting Needs. They have one of the jerseys I signed."_

 _"_ _Is it authentic?"_

He shrugged. " _Could be. I signed many things. It definitely wasn't worth all the Galleons, though."_

 _"_ _But it's got your signature."_

" _It's just a name."_

Poliakoff nodded. " _I see. Well, what else have you seen?"_

Falling into conversation with Poliakoff turned out to be an easier task than he thought. It made Viktor wonder why they never talked in the past, and why Poliakoff seemed so intimidated by him, and a part of him wanted to ask but he thought better of it. He found their conversation too stimulating to disrupt, even with Markus's random additions.

Ivanna and Hermione returned with their drinks. Markus took one swig of Butterbeer and declared that it wasn't a drink fit for men. He proceeded to march towards the bar only to return shortly to grab Poliakoff from his shoulders and haul him to his feet. He then dragged him towards the bar to do all the necessary translation of his order.

Hermione laughed at their antics while Ivanna shook her head.

"They are hopeless," sighed Ivanna.

"I wonder what they'll get…" mused Hermione, turning away from the bar. "So, have you all met at school?"

Viktor nodded. "We are in the same year."

"Viktor, Markus, and Dmitri were roommates until fourth year," supplied Ivanna when Viktor didn't add any more detail to Hermione's inquiring gaze. "I met them through my friend Ana."

"They were friends with Ana before?"

Ivanna smirked into her Butterbeer. Viktor flushed at the memory, emptying his own drink in one long swig to avoid looking at Hermione.

"What?" she asked, looking between the two Bulgarians with sudden interest. "Oh you have to tell me now, you can't leave it at that! It's not fair."

"I suppose you're right," sighed Ivanna, idly running her index finger over the rim of her cup, "but it's a _very_ long story…"

She was testing him, Viktor realised. He refused to let her rile him up in front of Hermione.

"She did not meet me through Ana," he said, sneering at Ivanna. "We duelled."

"Context, Viktor!" Ivanna mock scolded, then turned her devious grin to Hermione. "Here's what _really_ happened. My friend Ana loves the attention of boys, ever since she was young. She would always make them do things for her, and because she's pretty and they're stupid it always worked. One day on our way to class she saw Viktor hexing a sixth year boy into tears for taking his book and throwing it out the window."

She looked at him, wide-eyed yet slightly impressed. "How old were you then?"

"This was sometime towards the end of our first year," answered Ivanna quickly before Viktor could. "He was maybe twelve by then. Anyway, Ana saw that and decided that she wanted him to be her little bodyguard that carried her books and bought her all the pretty things." She snorted. "Of course she didn't know his name at first, so for a while she simply called him her school boyfriend."

Hermione looked at Viktor again, her eyebrows nearly rising to her hairline. He pretended to be fascinated by his empty cup and silently cursed Ivanna for tricking him into revealing this rather embarrassing memory.

" _I_ wanted to challenge him," she continued. "I did not like that Ana was obsessed with him when he did not even notice her. One day I decided to prove to her that you don't need boys to do things for you and that women can be even stronger than men." Hermione was nodding along vigorously. "So during lunchtime when Karkaroff and the staff had to attend an emergency meeting I challenged him to a duel. We were only first years, of course, and we barely knew the basics so our curses and hexes were mispronounced and clumsy at best. Neither one of us won or lost, however we did almost obliterate the Dinning Hall."

Hermione gaped at them, horrified. "But… that's… you must've broken…!"

" _All_ the rules," she said, grinning at Hermione's audible gasp.

"We were almost expelled," said Viktor, shooting Ivanna an accusatory glare, upset with her still for nearly tarnishing his entire future.

Hermione looked so shocked and scandalised that for a moment Viktor worried they'd broken her. He shot another lethal glare at Ivanna, who merely laughed and draped an arm over Hermione's shoulders.

" _Obviously_ we were not expelled, Hermione!"

"But still–!" she sputtered, whipping her head back and forth between the two of them.

"Viktor's father and my mother were owled," said Ivanna, cutting Hermione off just as she was about to lecture them, "and surprisingly enough they were not as angry with us as we thought they'd be."

Hermione was irked still at their long-ago discard of all rules of Durmstrang. "And why not?"

Ivanna grinned. "They were more afraid of what we did. They looked at the mess we made of the Dinning Hall once then at each other and said, at the same time I might add, 'the deal is off'."

"…Deal?"

"We were betrothed."

Hermione choked on her Butterbeer. Ivanna patted her back as she patiently waited for her to catch her breath and speak her thoughts regarding the matter. " _Betrothed?!_ But you were only eleven, for goodness's sake! Did you even get a say in any of it?"

"We did not know," said Viktor, shuddering at the possibility. "Is good we did not, or I think I will kill myself."

"Don't flatter yourself," Ivanna scoffed, then turned back to Hermione. "But yes, they realised that if we were ever to marry there will most definitely be casualties, so they decided to end it. Ana, of course, was upset with me when she heard. She refused to talk to me for weeks so I had no choice but to go with Markus, Poliakoff, and Viktor until she finally came to her senses."

"And did Ana come with you, for the tournament I mean? I couldn't help but notice that you're the only female student from Durmstrang."

"She did not come. Women were not allowed to enter their names for the tournament."

"But… you're here."

Ivanna smiled. "I am here."

"I'm glad," was all Hermione said. She didn't seem to need further explanation. Her lips stretched slowly into a smile as she looked at Ivanna in a new manner, a much more favourably one compared to her caution from when they first met merely hours ago.

Poliakoff and Markus returned with three bottles of Firewhisky and two glasses of wine. The larger of the duo was boasting loudly in their native tongue about his selection of drinks that were fit for men, of which only three individuals in the entire pub understood. Viktor accepted the Firewhisky but kept a protective clutch on his Butterbeer when Markus sought to push it away.

" _Elf-made wine for the ladies,"_ said Markus with a cheeky grin as he passed Ivanna and Hermione two dainty-looking glasses filled with the blood-red liquid.

Ivanna scoffed at her glass. She pushed it towards Markus and grabbed the last Firewhisky in his hand and took a long swig of it.

"Ok, I'll take the wine!" said Poliakoff when he saw Markus on the verge of firing an insult, looking beyond exasperated at playing peacekeeper.

Hermione awkwardly cleared her throat, looking up at Markus. "I'm sorry, I should've told you before you made the purchase, but I can't have any alcoholic drinks. I'm only fifteen."

Markus turned his frown to Poliakoff, who proceeded to translate her apology. He turned back to Hermione, looking more confused than ever. "Little wine…?"

She gave him an apologetic smile and shook her head. "Thank you, though."

He shrugged and then took her glass and placed it in front of Poliakoff, who responded with an eye roll and an exasperated sigh. Hermione giggled. Markus grinned.

" _I really like her,"_ he said, settling himself back into his chair. He nudged Poliakoff with his elbow. " _Tell her I like her."_

 _"_ _I don't want to,"_ grumbled Poliakoff. " _You're only doing this to annoy Viktor."_

He scowled. " _Fine, I'll tell her myself!"_ He then turned to Hermione with a toothy smile. "You… like flower for me… Viktor is tree…"

"Tree?" repeated Hermione, amused.

 _"_ _Shit. Poliakoff how do you say 'twig' in English? Never mind, I don't need you. I got this!"_ He cleared his throat. He then flexed the bulging muscles on his biceps and pointed a finger at Viktor's temple, making the champion swat the offending hand away on impulse. " _You like what you see, yes? I worked hard for these babies! Better than a stupid twig on a broom, yes?"_

Understanding flashed across her features. "Oh! Oh, yes, Viktor is very smart indeed! I saw some of his graded assignments and he got Outstanding for nearly everything. He also helped me loads with one particularly challenging Defence Against the Dark Arts essay…"

Viktor smiled into his drink, taking pleasure at Markus's fallen pride as Hermione continued to speak fondly of his many merits. Perhaps it's not too late to turn his luck around...

They stayed with Ivanna, Poliakoff, and Markus until their return to the castle. They finally separated when they reached the ship. Viktor quickly offered to escort her back to the castle and he was relieved to see that she didn't object as she strongly as she normally does.

They walked in silence, but it wasn't their usual comfortable type. She was staring at the castle looming ahead with a distracted, troubled look on her face and it made Viktor more anxious than when they ran into his peers at _Tomes and Scrolls_. Had Ivanna said something to her the few times they were alone?

"Herm-own-ninny," he began uncertainly.

"Yes?" she said, slightly started at being abruptly pulled out of her thoughts.

"I am sorry about today, about… Markus, and Ivanna and Poliakoff. I did not know they were going."

"What…?" she shook her head. "Oh, don't be! I love them, they're… interesting." She smiled. "The four of you make quite an interesting friendship, actually, though I really can't say much when my best friends and I are complete and polar opposites! Though I am glad to hear that you haven't broken any more rules since your disastrous duel."

He snorted. "If you say so."

She stopped and folded her arms over her chest, giving him a disapproving frown.

"I am kidding, Herm-own-ninny."

That same troubled look took over her features again.

He placed his hand over her crossed arms, wanting to pull her closer but holding back when he felt her stiffening. "What is wrong?"

"Viktor, you're not… You're not engaged, are you?" she said timidly, biting her lower lip and casting her eyes downwards. " _Now_ , I mean."

It took him a moment to understand her question, and where exactly it sprung from, and when he did a great sense of reassurance flooded through him. Grinning with renewed confidence, he pulled her closer and wrapped his arms around her. She yelped in surprise but didn't attempt to free herself.

"You jealous?" he murmured against her hair. "Don't be. Ana and I were never together, even as children."

"That's– that's not what I meant–!

"I know," he said, loosening his hold on her enough to let her lean back and glare up at him but not so much as to free herself. "And no, I am not promised to anyone." She still looked skeptical, but he wasn't deterred. "I swear, on my honour. My mother she tries, but I told you before. It doesn't work."

"Yes, I know, but still…"

"Herm-own-ninny, if I have a woman waiting for me in Bulgaria I–" he stopped himself, suddenly unconvinced of his own words. Would he have kept his distance from Hermione if he were already betrothed? He looked at her. She was looking up at him expectantly, her large brown eyes anxious still but waiting with baited breath for some kind of confirmation. "I… will end it."

He wouldn't really be able to keep his distance, no matter the circumstances. He would soil his honour and drag his family's name through the mud for her.

"I don't think your family would be very happy with that," she said, relaxing a little in his arms.

He paused. "Would you be happy?"

She flushed, struggling and failing to keep a smile from gracing her features. "I'd be… _relieved_." She cleared her throat then gently untangled his arms from around her, finally allowing herself to smile when he pouted. "It's getting late. I should probably head back inside before curfew."

They heard students bustling about indoors when she said that, no doubt leaving the Dinning Hall for their dormitories. Soon enough his own schoolmates that skipped on the Hogsmeade trip would appear.

"Ok, I will let you go," he said, then hesitated. "First– can I kiss you goodnight?"

There was something about her smile that reminded him of one of Ivanna's more devious ones. He didn't have time to worry, though, for as soon as that thought crept into his mind she placed her hands on his shoulders and stood on her toes to press a soft, feather-light kiss on the corner of his mouth.

"Goodnight!" she said, then quickly released him and dashed indoors. He wasn't sure but he thought he heard her giggling.

* * *

He returned to the ship with cheeks the colour of a ripe tomato and a dumb grin plastered on his face. He heard a wolf-whistle but he ignored it and rushed into his private dorm. He found Earnest waiting for him on his bedpost. He shut the window before untying the scroll from the owl's leg.

He could tell from the hasty, jagged lines of his father's otherwise impeccable handwriting that the Bulgarian patriarch was not very happy with his son's lack of response. His letter read:

 _You know very well where our family stands on the subject of blood purity, but I assume that all those Bludgers you took to the head have finally dislodged something in your brain, so I will say this again for your sake. Our family does not and never will associate with or participate in outdated, barbaric practices such as the culling of Muggles. Now will you tell me what made you ask that question in the first place or do I have to come all the way to Scotland and see for myself?_

He took out his quill and parchment paper. His father had once again failed to answer his question, but he decided that he couldn't wait any longer. He was too giddy to see reason and he's certain that it's all because of Hermione's kiss.

 _Father,_ he began to write, his heart hammering in his chest, _I met someone._


	10. Chapter 10

"You again!" the Fat Lady gasped, now wide-awake. "How many times must we go through this?"

"I have password," said Viktor proudly.

"No you do not–!"

"Fairy lights."

She slumped back into her cushions. "That is… that is correct, actually. However–"

Viktor glared at her. "No. You open door now."

"How dare you use that tone with me!"

"I give you password, so now you must open door. Simple."

"Why are you so adamant on seeing the Gryffindor common room anyway? Why not bother that bloody Eagle at Ravenclaw tower, or have a try for the Slytherin dungeons?"

"Towers and dungeons are boring. We have much of them in Durmstrang. I want to see room behind portrait, and I give you correct password so now you must open."

"No I do not!" she said crossly, closing her fan with a snap and glaring down at him. "And while it's true that you've given me the correct password, I'm afraid that it is no longer in use. The password has been changed, and since you obviously don't have the new one I simply cannot and will not grant you entrance. Understood?"

He sighed. He couldn't help but feel like he's constantly being tested in this castle. "Ok, so you give me new hint."

"I gave you a hint last time!" she said shrilly. "I am loosing sleep over this nonsense! What do I have to do to get you to return to your ship?"

"Open door for me and I will not come back again."

"Absolutely not!"

"Ok then give me new hint and I will only come back when I have correct password."

"I am not negotiating with you, young man, I am telling you No!"

"Then I will stay," he said stubbornly, sitting on the ground before her and crossing his legs. "Up to you."

She made an angry sound. She threw her fan at him, or she tried to as it collided with the surface of the barrier keeping her within the confines of the portrait and bounced right back to her side.

"Now look what you made me do," she huffed as she bent to retrieve her fan, struggling with her large frilly dress and the many pillows surrounding her.

"You look different, dear," interjected the kindly old woman who seemed to have a habit of misplacing her slippers. She was now searching for them in a round portrait above the Fat Lady's. "Have you done something to your hair?"

Viktor shook his head.

"No?" she stopped in her search to look at him more closely. "Have you been exercising, then?"

"I am always exercising. I am a Quidditch player."

"Ah, yes. Well you do look better. Doesn't he?" she turned her question to the Fat Lady before resuming her search. "He's always been a fine young man, of course."

"You think _every_ young man is a fine one, Eliza!" snapped the Fat Lady. "Now help me get rid of him before Filch gets here."

"If you want to get rid of him _wait_ for Filch to get here," said Harold, his glaring beady eyes fixed on Viktor. "Real fear is the only language these bloody Russians understand."

Viktor frowned. "I am Bulgarian."

"Tell it to someone who cares!"

Viktor stared silently at the monk, unsure of how to respond to that. People would normally apologise for guessing his nationality wrong, but Harold was more adamant on insulting him in any and every way possible. Viktor assumed that it's got something to do with him slipping away last time he went to call Filch. Harold must've gotten in trouble for it, seeing as he's not rushing to call Filch now.

"I am sorry I did not wait for Filch," he said to Harold, "but I will also not wait if you go now because I don't want to be in trouble. Herm-own-ninny will be sad if I am in trouble." Harold grunted in response. Viktor stepped closer to his portrait, now confused. Maybe he should've started with an introduction? "My name is Viktor Krum."

"Will you put that thing _out_ already!" he snarled when Viktor's lit wand came too close to his eyes, swiping at the portrait's barrier in an attempt to snatch Viktor's wand and probably break it. "It appears that the youth of today have lost all respect for their elders. So be it!" he swiftly stood on his feet, or as swiftly as his weak and wobbly legs could stand. "I shall report you to the Headmaster himself!"

"You can't, Harold!" cried the Fat Lady, rushing from her portrait to his and grabbing his arm. "It's awfully late and the Headmaster is troubled enough as it is, you mustn't burden him any further!"

"Unhand me, woman!"

"I will not! You will not bother the Headmaster with this, not when I am taking care of things perfectly well on my own!"

"Ha, you call this taking care of things? The boy's been coming back here for months!"

"Yes, well, he's foreign so it's possible that the language barrier–"

"He's playing you for a fool!"

"Harold, did you just call me a fool?"

"And a fat one, too!"

"How dare you!"

They continued arguing for a long time, much to Viktor's dismay. When the Fat Lady started smacking the monk with her fan he knew that he wasn't going to see the Gryffindor common room anytime soon. He tried using an Unlocking Charm on the now empty portrait but it didn't budge. Again he looked towards the monk and the Fat Lady but they were so distracted with either hitting or shielding each other that they forgot all about him standing there, the subject of their argument.

"Excuse me, dear, wait one moment please," Eliza called after him when he turned to leave. She was now in the Fat Lady's portrait, which appeared to have contained her missing slippers all along. She was just slipping them on her bare feet when Viktor returned. "I'm just wondering if you are by any chance related to Professor Krum? We have a portrait of him in the castle."

"Professor?" he repeated, his eyebrows knitting in confusion. His father had given guest lectures a few times in the past but he was still by no means a professor. Wouldn't he have to die first to become an animated portrait anyway, and also accomplish something in Hogwarts to earn a space on its walls? "I think you are making mistake."

"Oh no, I'm quite certain I got the name right," she said, looking down fondly at her slippers before rising to her feet. "I thought you looked familiar for the longest time but I just couldn't remember where I've seen you before. It came to me when you introduced yourself to Harold! Though I'm sad to say that poor old Professor Krum died a long time ago, before you were even born, so I hardly doubt that you two met in person."

A thought occurred to him. _Could it be?_

"Will you show me?" he asked.

She smiled. "Of course. Come this way, then, and keep your wand lit."

She left the Fat Lady's portrait and moved through the portraits leading up the stairs. Viktor kept his eyes on her as he stumbled after her on the stony steps, panicking a little when one of the staircases moved but then breathing out a sigh of relief when she exclaimed that that move just cut their journey short. She then led him into a long, dark hallway that seemed to go on endlessly. He was about to stop and demand to know exactly where she was taking him, and that this better not be a ploy to get him away from the entrance to the common room, but then she herself stopped at a small, palm-sized frame.

"I'm afraid I can't go any further," she said apologetically, squeezing next to a particularly irritated canary to look at him. "There aren't any more portraits after this except for Professor Krum's, but he's still a long way from here so how I about I just meet you there?"

"What room is he in?"

"He's at the roof of the Dark Tower. The entrance is just down the hall to your left. I know Filch keeps it locked, but I'm sure a simple Unlocking Charm will do the trick. Did you get that, dear?"

He nodded. She then disappeared from the tiny portrait, much to the relief of the canary. He followed her directions and found the door in question with the notably large rusty lock, and true to her words it yielded easily to his wand. The door opened with a loud creak that made Viktor cringe and glance behind his shoulders before rushing in and closing the door more carefully behind him. He put a silencing charm on it for extra measure. It's very unlikely that anyone would be curious enough to peek behind such an old, clearly uninteresting door, but he still wouldn't want to take any chances, not when he's on the verge of a great discovery.

He was shocked to find himself standing in a cold, damp prison. The circular staircase with the rusted rails passed by many empty cells, covering roughly seven or eight floors. The small slanted windows barely provided the tower with any light.

" _Lumos Maxima,"_ he muttered, and when the light at the tip of his wand enlarged and became nearly blinding with its increased brightness he flicked it towards the very top of the tower. It revealed more of the tower than the moonlight streaming through the small windows but it still didn't put his heart at ease. Why would he be put in a place like this?

He walked up the stairs and tried his best not to run at full speed. He had too many questions in his mind and he was now half-hoping that the person Eliza spoke of wasn't the one he was thinking of, because surely a man like him wouldn't be placed in such a dank, desolate place. He couldn't tell why, but the mere thought scared him more than it angered him.

He didn't find an entrance to the roof when he reached the last level and he was on the verge of giving up when the tip of a thick, mold-covered rope hanging from the ceiling brushed his shoulder. He grabbed it and pulled it down to reveal another set of stairs, this time of old rusted metal that appeared too narrow and treacherous to climb. He tested the fist few steps, then rushed to the top when he saw that the metal didn't creak under his weight. He pulled his cloak tighter around himself in preparation for the cold winds that will likely assault him more fiercely at this height, but he was surprised to find that the roof was rather warm and dry. Curious, he peeked over the railings and saw that the grounds below him were still covered in snow, including the four gargoyles perched around the tower.

 _Warming charms,_ his mind offered. _Probably something that repels water and dust as well._

 _That still doesn't excuse anything_ , he thought stubbornly, his grip on the railings tightening. _He shouldn't be here!_

"This way, dear!"

He turned towards Eliza's voice and found her in a rather large canvas of what appeared to be a close-up of a study. She was standing behind a cluttered writing desk placed before a full bookshelf. A few candles cast a very dim light within the room. Viktor searched the portrait with his eyes but found no animated being other than Eliza.

"Are you here, Professor?" she called, looking towards a point past the edge of the portrait where Viktor's eyes couldn't reach. "There's someone here to see you!" she paused. Viktor held his breath. There was no answer. She turned to him with an apologetic look on her face. "Oh, this is embarrassing. I'm so sorry dear, I should've told you. Professor Krum doesn't stay in this portrait for long. He's rarely seen here, actually, but he usually responds when I call him. I'm assuming that he's somewhere far today."

Viktor shook his head. There were _two_ portraits of him? "Is not possible."

She shrugged. "I don't know how travel between portraits work myself, and I happen to belong to one!"

"No, I-" he faltered, now looking desperately at Eliza for answers. "This is not the portrait of Illiya Krum. He does not have one, my father told me he never allowed it."

"Are you quite sure about that?" she asked, casually turning over a book lying on his desk. _The Downfall of Harpo the Foul._ Viktor shuddered. The question, however sweetly phrased, reminded him too much of Karkaroff's more condescending one from a few weeks ago. "Tall fellow, dark, brooding, rather grumpy if you don't mind me saying?"

Viktor's mouth hung open. It just occurred to him that he doesn't really know if any of those qualities fit the description of the man in question. In fact, anything and everything he knew about his grandfather he either read about in old newspaper clippings or heard from some of his old retired peers that he and his parents have come across the few times they visited his grandfather's grave, but even then his father had always been too quick and dismissive to allow any more room for questions.

"He… he was teaching at Drumstrang," he muttered lamely. His eyes caught the name engraved on the desk. _Prof. I. Krum._ "He was never here in Hogwarts…" because surely _he_ of all people would've known.

Eliza laughed softly. "Of course he was, dear, otherwise why would we have his portrait? He taught Transfiguration for a year, but it was quite a long time ago and he didn't seem very fond of the school. He really liked things to be in strict order, that man."

"Then why is Dumbledore putting him here?" he demanded, finally feeling his anger rising at the blatant disrespect. "He does not belong here."

"He didn't," said Eliza, smiling sweetly and completely unfazed by his anger. "Professor Krum requested it. He didn't get along very well with the other portraits, or even the students for that matter. They were too frightened of him. He scolded the poor souls for every small, silly thing, and he had a terrible habit of making first years cry!" she huffed, irritated with the memory. "Being brilliant doesn't give you an excuse to make children cry, you know. Filch certainly liked him."

He didn't say anything to that. He was staring at the shiny name on the desk, trying his hardest to recognize any of those traits.

"Well then, I better get going!" she chirped, cheerful again. "I'm really sorry for bringing you all the way up here for nothing, but perhaps he'll be back another time. Are you coming, then?" she asked, poking her head back from the edge of the frame when she noticed that Viktor did not move from his spot.

He shook his head. "You go first."

She didn't seem to question his decision. "Alright then. Don't stay up too late!"

He approached the portrait when he was sure she was out of earshot, his heart beating fast and his mouth dry. " _Sir?"_ he shook his head, then swallowed. _"Grandfather? Are you there?_ " he paused. Nothing came into view. _"It's me, Viktor. You don't know me but I'm your grandson. I've always wanted to meet you. Father doesn't like talking about you, but I've done my part and I've read and I've asked around. I heard so many great things about you, grandfather. Still, it appears that I don't know you as well I liked to believe."_ He lifted his hand and gently caressed the surface of the portrait, exactly over the name on the desk. _"So will you tell me all the things I didn't know? Will you talk to me, if only for a little while?"_

The flame of the candle nearest flickered. Nothing else moved.

* * *

Karkaroff and the potions master were both missing from the breakfast table the next morning. Viktor felt that he had reason to be extremely suspicious, but of what exactly he wasn't sure. Nobody else seemed concerned, including Dumbledore himself who was too busy conversing with Madam Maxime to notice.

Viktor was relieved to find his headmaster at his own office on deck afterwards. Karkaroff, on the other hand, didn't look like he was in the mood to fake niceties.

 _"_ _What is it now, Viktor?"_ he demanded irritably, sweeping a mountain of papers into the bin without even looking at them.

 _"_ _I can come later if you're busy, Headmaster."_

 _"_ _I won't have time later, and you have that mutant so-called headmistress to thank for!"_ He looked up at Viktor. It could've been a trick of the light, but Karkaroff suddenly looked too small for his clothes and there appeared to be more grey streaks in his rapidly thinning hair. _"Spit it out, boy."_

Viktor cleared his throat. _"Right then. I was only going to ask if there ever was a portrait of my grandfather in Durmstrang."_

 _"_ _Of course not. You think I could've kept it from your father if it existed?"_ he scoffed, then pulled open his drawer and fished out a thick titleless volume. _"Now if that is all you need of me then I must ask you to leave. I'll have to take down the wards in a few days and you're not permitted to witness the magic I'm about to perform."_

Viktor paused mid-bow. _"Wards around the ship?"_

 _"_ _Wherever else, Viktor?"_

He flushed. _"Yes, of course, I just- I mean, is everything alright? Is the school's position compromised?"_

Karkaroff startled him with his loud, mirthless laughter. _"Oh, how I wish that was the case! Do you really want to know why I'm forced to take the wards down?"_ there was a dangerous glint in his eyes that made Viktor feel compelled to say No and leave. _"It's that giant bitch backstabbing me!"_ he snarled and slammed the heavy volume onto his desk, making the crystalline inkbottles shake. _"Our agreement clearly states that while Hogwarts covered New Year's staff dinner, her school would host Valentine's and mine Easter, but then she turns around and demands an exchange without an explanation whatsoever! Dumbledore of course complies, no doubt to have a peak at our school's secrets. Well, the joke's on him because he's not setting foot in the library!"_

Viktor frowned. _"You're having the staff dinner here, on the ship? Why not reserve a table at a restaurant?"_

 _"_ _You think I haven't tried that? Everywhere decent is overbooked for Valentine's. Gods, I loathe this holiday! Now I'm forced to host the staff dinner here, and to make matters even worse I'll have to take down the wards because of Dumbledore and Maxime's precious halflings and Mudblood staff members. I'm telling you, Viktor, this is all Dumbledore's doing. It has been his plan to infiltrate this school all along, I just know it, but oh no I'm not letting him have his way on_ my _ship! I will make him rue the day he challenged me, or I wouldn't be Igor fucking Karkaroff!"_

Viktor quietly left his headmaster to his hysteric, angry ramblings. All thoughts of his grandfather's portrait at the top of a prison tower were momentarily forgotten. A plan was forming in his mind, for until this very moment he couldn't come up with a decent Valentine's Day gift for Hermione.

* * *

The enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall was covered entirely by owls fluttering to and fro, delivering and receiving all sorts of packages and letters. Viktor surveyed the hall from his place by the entrance, making sure that all eyes were too preoccupied either fawning over their invitations or sulking into their bowls.

The corner of his mouth curved ever so slightly when his eyes landed on Hermione, for once the first and only to notice him in a crowd. He tapped his breast pocket then got down on one knee to pretend to tie the laces of his boots he purposely left untied (and tripped over several times on his way to the Great Hall) making sure Hermione was still watching him before allowing his little paper messenger to slip from his pocket and charge towards the Gryffindor table.

He rose to his feet and watched the tiny soldier made entirely of parchment paper, whose creation nearly robbed Viktor of all sleep, skid around students running from one table to another to share their delight with friends in other houses. He was worried that it would eventually get crushed by one of those running feet, but the messenger's reflexes were as fast as his creator's. Viktor took his usual seat with the Slytherins when he saw his messenger disappear under the Gryffindors' table.

Hermione ducked to retrieve the messenger. Viktor noticed that her friends weren't with her this time and for a brief moment he wondered why. Harry Potter at least should've gotten some kind of an invitation for Valentine. He had become so popular lately that if he and Viktor were in the same room Viktor would often be overlooked, a gift the Bulgarian very soon learned to appreciate.

Hermione resurfaced with his messenger wobbling on her open palm. He hopped onto the table and stumbled a little before getting down on one knee. Viktor cringed at the sight, thinking that the little thing may have taking too much of his maker's qualities, but he had a change of heart when he saw the messenger take Hermione's index finger in his small papery hand and kiss it, making her grin. He then beckoned for her to lean forward with his free hand, and when she did he whispered Viktor's message into her ear.

A light blush dusted her cheeks and for a moment Viktor worried that the messenger may have delivered the wrong message but then she looked up at him, smiled, and nodded. The messenger stood on his feet, bowed, and then unfurled himself to show her the time and place– the owlery, just before supper.

Satisfied with his success, Viktor helped himself to some waffles and coffee. He didn't get to enjoy them for long, though, as the moment he brought his cup to his lips his waffles got buried completely under a huge pile of letters.

He glared at the pile, and then vanished every last letter with a flick of his wand. Another, larger pile dropped on him, this time covering his lap and falling onto the ground by his feet, eliciting snickers form his peers. He vanished them a second time, avoiding looking towards the Gryffindor table at all costs and cursing Potter to high heavens in his head. Of all the times the boy could've skipped breakfast! The third drop fell onto Markus's side.

" _Keep your shit to yourself, Krum!_ " he growled, shoving the few letters into Viktor's hands.

" _I can't exactly control the owls."_

 _"_ _Learn then, or accept the fact that you'll be spending all of Valentine's nursing a broken face."_

Viktor leaned away from the larger man. Even he knew not to test him. He turned to Poliakoff facing them, his expression enquiring.

Poliakoff hesitated, very much unwilling to turn Markus's wrath towards him. Finally he decided to answer in English. "He's upset because he did not receive a single Valentine's Day card, not even from his date from the ball or from his own girlfriend back home."

Markus grunted, stabbing his eggs viciously.

Viktor raised a brow. "He has girlfriend?"

"Apparently. Can't imagine she's happy to hear that he was being a little too friendly with someone else."

Ivanna snorted next to Poliakoff, casually flipping through her stack. "She's not. Sent him a nasty Howler just before you arrived."

Markus glared at her when he caught the word Howler. _"Don't think I won't fight you just because you're a girl, Morozova."_

Ivanna looked up from the letter she was reading and smiled. _"Please do. I could use a good spar. I haven't practiced in a long time."_

 _"_ _Perfect!"_ he hissed between his teeth, shoving his plate away and springing to his feet. _"On dock, after lunch."_

 _"_ _Don't be late,"_ she said, turning back to her pile. She smiled when he growled in response and stomped out of the hall. _"You know I'm actually going to miss that idiot after we graduate."_

 _"_ _I think I'm going to miss Hogwarts more,"_ said Poliakoff. _"I don't regret going to Durmstrang at all, of course, but if I were to be honest I don't think I've ever felt at home in Durmstrang as much as I did in my short stay here. The people are just so, so wonderful! Wouldn't you agree, Viktor?"_

Viktor busied himself with clearing his still-growing pile of letters. _"We're not leaving for months. We've got time."_

 _"_ _Yes, I suppose you're right, but still…"_ he sighed wistfully into his plate. _"It'd be wonderful if we could stay longer."_

Viktor glared at him, his mood now soured. He didn't want to think about leaving, about saying goodbye to Hermione and Cedric and to this strange friendship he's slowly and a little unwillingly developing with his peers, not today of all days and not for many more days to come.

Ivanna stiffened. She removed a green velvety envelope with fancy silver handwriting from the stack she was looking through and brought it closer to her face. From the corner of his eyes Viktor saw Blaise Zabini lower his mug and turn ever so slightly towards them, his handsome face perfectly schooled. Ivanna turned the envelope over and her impressed face quickly fell when she read the name of the sender. She tore the letter in half without opening it or so much as acknowledging the sender with a glance. Zabini smirked before taking a slow sip of his coffee.

Viktor was startled to find another mountain of letters waiting for him on Markus's empty seat. He scanned the Hall with his eyes, trying to find the perpetrator and to put an end to this display once and for all, but even his usual stalkers seemed busy with their gifts and chocolates. His eyes landed on Hermione. She hadn't noticed the pile, and he would've been relieved had she not been too busy giggling at his Messenger instead. He had reassembled himself when Viktor was busy with his letters and had latched pathetically onto Hermione's fingers as if his tiny unreal life depended on it.

Viktor vanished his fourth pile, flushing crimson and thinking that he's _definitely_ put too much of himself in his messenger. What he regrets even more is taking the precautionary measure of making sure that the magic lasts for a few hours longer.

* * *

A/N: this chapter took a crazy long time to write, mostly because it wasn't supposed to be in the original story. The chapter following this was originally a Valentine special that I was unfortunately unable to post on Valentine's Day, and yea I could've still posted it anyway but when I went over it again I realised that the universe set for it really wasn't that different from the one here, so I decided I might as well add it here rather than jump straight to the second task. It'll further develop Viktor and Hermione's relationship and... well, let's just say that it changed a few things.

I do apologise if this chapter disappointed or bored anyone, but it's really just an introduction to the next! It will be a little shorter than regular chapters, but it's also going to be awkward and super cute and fun! And it's already half-written, so hopefully the wait won't be as long :D After that fluffy bit we'll head straight to the second task and then back to the main storyline.

Thank you for the continued support and for your patience! I hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Valentine's ridiculously overdue special is finally here. Hope you enjoy it!

For the newcomers: Welcome :D just a quick reminder that _this is when the characters speak Bulgarian._

* * *

Her smile vanished at the sight of his approach. There was panic in her voice when she spoke. "We're flying?"

He glanced down at his broom. Was there something wrong with it? There shouldn't be. It's a Firebolt Supreme, the very best broomstick ever made to date, also thoroughly checked right after the last game of the World Cup.

"I'm sorry, Viktor, I didn't mean to insult you," she quickly added, looking sheepish, "I'm just not very fond of flying."

"Why not?" he asked. He couldn't help it. Flying was more liberating and natural to him than walking. "Muggles fly all the time, inside big silver cans with wings and things like fins."

"Aeroplanes," she corrected, smiling softly at his effort. "And they're big and enclosed and they've got seatbelt and lifeboats and all sorts of safety measures, whereas with broomsticks you can fall to your death if your palms get sweaty enough." He chuckled. She rolled her eyes. "Of course I'd sound ridiculous to you."

He shook his head. "I laugh because I imagine I die by sweaty hands. It is embarrassing, but also funny."

"It is _not_ funny!"

"Of course it is, because it will never happen."

"Because you're just that great at flying?"

"Herm-own-ninny, I am the best." He was, after all, merely a few Snitches away from reaching a world record no one has been able to break in over a century.

She grinned. "Alright. So where are you taking me, Mr. Best Flyer in the World?"

He patted the empty space on his broomstick.

She approached him but didn't climb in front of him as he expected her to. She stood in front of him instead with her small hand resting on the polished wood of his hovering broom. "You'll need to be a little more convincing than that."

He sighed. "You ruin surprise."

"Oh, Viktor I'm sure I'll love it regardless! And we're already going there anyway, so knowing a few minutes early really wouldn't make that much of a difference."

Except he wanted to see the look on her face when he reveals it to her. She's been hinting about her curiosity for months and until now he hasn't been able to do anything about it.

Nevertheless, he decided to sacrifice that bit. They only have until midnight and he wants to make sure that she sees everything there is to see. "Ok, but if I say surprise you get on broom."

"Deal," she agreed, extending her hand for him to shake.

He took both her hands in his and tugged her closer. He leaned down to whisper in her ear: "You will not tell anyone, yes? Not even to Potter or Weasley?"

She swallowed. "Of- of course not. I can keep secrets, you know."

"Good." He leaned back, smiling down at her. "I know you want to see Durmstrang. I don't know why when you have Hogwarts, it's very boring, but you want to see it and I want to show you but I can't for many reasons, but tonight I can show you small things."

She frowned. "I'm not sure I follow. Small things?"

He grinned. "Tonight, Herm-own-ninny, I will show you Durmstrang's library."

"You will– _what_?" she gasped, her eyes wide and her hands flying from his to cover her gaping mouth. " _How_ …? You're flying us all the way to _Durmstrang_? Viktor, that can't be safe and I don't even know where it is and– and we don't have _permission_ to leave the premises! And I'm not sure if we'll get one on such short notice- or at all! And I'm Muggle-born, I wouldn't be allowed in the school! You told me so yourself– Why are you laughing?" she narrowed her eyes at him as he doubled over on his broom. "Viktor are you pulling my leg?"

"No, your arm." He snatched one hand and pulled her closer. "And both Hogwarts and Durmstrang school board will kill me if I take you to Drumstrang now. I will take you to smaller library on ship. There are not many books, but they are rare and you will not find them anywhere else in the world."

He took one look at her flushed cheeks and glazed eyes and knew then and there that this gift is far more superior to a shiny piece of jewelry or a box of chocolate. She was curious of the mysterious and uncanny and Durmstrang Institute embodied both. She was naturally drawn to its mystery and he had always regretted his inability to reveal all the details she tried to pry out of him, so when Karkaroff said that he was going to put the wards down he saw an opportunity and he took it before he could talk himself out of it.

"Can you do that?" she whispered, looking uncertainly but also longingly at the ship in the distance. "Would I be allowed to? I'm still Muggle-born." She then turned to him. "Wouldn't you get in trouble for it?"

He snorted. "If Karkaroff finds out I will be expelled."

" _Expelled?!_ Viktor, you can't possibly expect me to let you–!"

He groaned loudly, cutting her off. "You worry too much, Herm-own-ninny!"

"With good reason!" She clutched his hands gripping the broom with both of hers, panicked and imploring but still a tiny bit tempted. "Oh please, _please_ , Viktor, let's do something else instead! I appreciate the thought, really I do, but if we were to get caught I wouldn't be able to live with myself knowing that I got you expelled on your final year."

He freed his hands from hers, feigning dejection. "So you don't trust me."

She blinked. "Of course I do."

"You are lying."

"Viktor!"

"Then you come on broom if you trust me."

"But if we get caught–!"

"See? You don't trust me. You think I am weak and stupid and do things without making plans first."

"I– what– _no I do not_!" she made a frustrated sound. He allowed a triumphant smile to spread over his features before offering her a hand. She glared hard at it for a short interval before giving in with a defeated sigh and allowing him to help her onto the broom in front of him. "Fine, but if you pull a Wonky Faint on the way I'm never talking to you again."

He chuckled. "I think you mean Wronski Feint." He then wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer to plant a kiss on her cheek. "Happy Valentine's Day."

The flight from the owlery to the quarterdeck of the ship was fairly short. For the most part Hermione was calm, or Viktor assumed she was when she nodded along to his explanation of the deserted state of the ship. Only after he dismounted did he notice that her eyes were squeezed shut and that her grip was so tight that she was unconsciously dipping the tip of the broom towards the ground. He placed his hand on the back to restore balance.

"We are here, Herm-own-ninny," he said, biting back a grin.

Her eyes flew open. She released the breath she's apparently been holding and quickly dismounted. "R-right then. Lead the way."

He decided not to comment on that and instead offered her his arm. She took it. He then walked her down the stairs and onto the main deck. "Would you like a quick tour first?"

She bit her lip, once again torn between satisfying her own curiosity and keeping him from getting expelled. "Perhaps another time."

"There will not be another time, Herm-own-ninny. Don't worry, I will be fast. Karkaroff is too busy entertaining guests he hates below deck, or maybe he is still trying to seduce potions master. I don't know, but you don't use magic and he will not know."

She considered it for a moment. "I can't use magic at all? But I though security is lax tonight."

"It is, but he can still check tomorrow when he puts the wards back."

"And he'd recognize magic performed by someone outside Durmstrang?"

He nodded. "Wand magic leaves traces. They're very small and no one can catch, but the magic here is ancient, older than wand magic. It can catch it."

Her eyes widened, her concerns clearly forgotten in the wake of her more dominant, inquisitive side. "How old are we talking?"

He shrugged. "Maybe thousands of years. No one knows exactly. You know Nerida Vulchanova, our founder? It was her ship. She was using it to save children from Muggles who try to burn them, and she bring them to Durmstrang castle to teach them how to use magic. She was Bulgarian but with Norwegian ancestors. Famous Viking warriors, some say."

"Oh yes, that makes sense! I noticed the shape of the ship. It looks like a pirate ship from the distance but it's really shaped like a longboat, isn't it? Not to mention the dragon head at the front."

"You know Viking ships?" he asked, looking impressed.

She blushed. "Not really. My Mum was obsessed with Norse mythology for a while. I admit I humored her for the most part, but I was a little fascinated with the ships so I remember that part."

He grinned. "Is ok, I will explain everything." He then turned them so that they were facing the captain's cabin looming above them. The windows were closed and the room within was bathed completely in darkness, indicating that the Headmaster was not present. "Yes, it was originally a longboat. It belonged to Vulchanova's family, but no one knows if her ancestors they make it themselves or if they steal it or buy it. She added things to make it look like a pirate ship to keep Muggle pirates from attacking." He nodded towards the captain's cabin and gave her a few moment to inspect it from the distance. He then led her to the rails. "The wood is different, if you notice."

She placed her free hand on the rails, feeling the ancient wood beneath her palm. "It's very warm."

"To keep students warm in long trips. Here is actually warmer than Durmstrang castle."

"Did Vulchanova also turn the ship into a submarine?"

He shook his head. "It was always like that. It caused many problems with Muggles."

"How so?"

"Is not always easy to hide when you have Muggle pirates and travellers and merchants wanting to explore everything. Things were different. It was not easy to find so many Muggles and Obliviate them, so the wizards they have no choice but to let them make their stories and legends."

She quirked an eyebrow. "And what kind of legends did they make of your ship?"

He smirked. "Every name this ship has? From Muggles. For a long time they believed that it was Skidbladnir, the ship belonging to the god Freyr."

"Oh, I think my mother may have mentioned it! Is it the one that you can supposedly fold?"

"Yes, also it sails easily everywhere you take it." He laughed at her inquiring gaze. "No, it does not fold, or sail smoothly. I don't think Skidbladnir is a good name. I like the Flying Dutchman better."

She gaped. She then released his arm and walked to the center, looking around as if she was truly seeing the ship for what it is for the very firs time. " _This_ is the Flying Dutchman?"

He leaned against the railings and folded his arms over his chest, an amused smile on his face. "The Muggles think it is, yes."

She whirled around to face him, her wild curls bouncing off her shoulders. "What else did they think it is?"

He thought back on the books he's read years before enrolling. "A ghost ship in 1920s I think, but that time it was a prank not an accident."

She shook her head. "You know what, I don't think I want to know."

And he was relieved she didn't. He had just remembered that that particular prank was lead by none other than Gellert Grindelwald, and as much as she hated the Dark Arts he knew she'd still ask about that dark period of the school's history if presented with the right prompt. Under normal circumstances he would've had no problem discussing the events in length, but considering his recent discovery he'd rather not talk about Grindelwald and his family's losses during that war just yet.

More than anything, he wants her to see a different side of his school, things besides its reputation for upholding the Dark Arts and producing some of the most darkest wizards in history. He wants her to see not the image Karkaroff is projecting, but the things that make him proud and honored to have been chosen to represent it by the Goblet.

He joined her at the center and pointed her attention to the school's crest on the sails. "Many books will say that this is Vulchanova's family crest, but is not true. Her family's crest did not have the eagle and Cyrillic letters, but Norse runes and two ravens."

She stepped back and craned her neck to get a better view. "Why two ravens?"

"Like Odin's ravens, no? Huginn and Muninn, thought and memory. Or maybe it's something else, no one knows."

She paused. "Everything known about your school's founder seems to be based on theories rather than facts."

He smiled. "She was very private. Guarded her secrets well. Everything known about her is, like you said, theories from things people who knew her said. Even her death is a mystery."

"But surely she's had a friend to confide in? Or a husband perhaps, or even a favorite student?"

"She did not marry. She had many close lady friends, but they come and go and she did not say anything to them. Some say they were her lovers, but there is no proof. I don't know if they were, but I think she is only liking women."

"Why do you say that?"

"She is never having male lovers, and she was always refusing marriage proposals for no good reason."

She frowned at his reasoning. "Maybe she just didn't want to marry."

He shrugged. "Anything is possible."

He showed her what he could of the upper decks. She planted her feet on the ground and point blank refused to set foot in Karkaroff's office despite Viktor's encouragements and list of tempting historical trivia. He gave in and led her to the lower deck when she insisted that while she was enjoying the tour immensely she'd really rather see the library. They passed the kitchen on their way unnoticed by the cooks bustling around the cluttered space trying to prepare the three course staff dinner. He noticed Hermione crinkling her nose at the kitchen's leaky, moldy state and he briefly wondered if it was a good idea to show her the library after all, knowing that the state it was being kept in was only slightly better.

"The kitchen is not being used for many years," he tried explaining. "Before when trips were longer, always, but now from the mainland to Durmstrang is only half a day voyage. This is the longest trip in decades."

"Could've done with a bit of maintenance," she said with a shudder. "How you managed to survive the entire trip without getting poisoned I'll never know."

He chuckled. "Is why Durmstrang students never stay on ship for meals." And precisely why he finds it annoying whenever Fleur complains about the food.

She giggled. "Well if that's the case then I'm so very glad that we've been of assistance."

He was relieved to see that she was anything but disgusted by the library. One would think that she was in the Library of Alexandria rather than the small, dingy makeshift library of an old, partially neglected ship. Her face had lit up at the sight of the floating dim candles casting an eerie glow upon tall, crooked shelves housing tattered volumes of unspeakable titles and unknown authors. She slipped her hand from his arm and drifted indoors, running her fingers over the ancient spines lined along the shelves. She didn't seem at all bothered by the leaking roofs or the echoes of each drop that hits the floor.

He turned from her to close the door behind them, hiding his smile. She was an odd girl, indeed.

"You can read any book you want," he called over his shoulders when he felt her hesitating, securing the door with a locking and silencing charm. "There are mostly in Russian and Swedish and Latin, but you will find English and German ones at the back. I think we also have Greek."

She looked at him, her hand still hovering over a spine uncertainly. "What language are the classes taught in?"

"Originally in Bulgarian, when Vulchanova was still alive," he answered, turning away from the door and joining her by the shelves. "Harfang Munter became Headmaster after Vulchanova died and he changed it to Swedish. Today is still Swedish, but now they also let you choose in Russian if you want."

"And am I right to assume that you take your classes in Russian?"

He scoffed. "Why limit myself when I can take both?"

Her eyes widened. " _Both?_ Viktor, how many languages do you speak? _"_

He grinned, taking a moment to bask in the highly impressed, admirable way she was staring up at him. _Bet the bastard doesn't even know a second language,_ he thought smugly of the mysterious boy she had previously pined after. "Other than Bulgarian and Russian? Swedish, Latin, and soon English."

" _Five_ languages!"

"Is nothing," he said indifferently. "Poliakoff knows nine."

"Five languages is still something, Viktor, a lot more than I can say for myself and I only know English and a little bit of French. I don't think I know anyone who's fluent in more than two languages."

"When you are in small school with too many different people, you learn," he said, although he didn't actually learn said languages by mixing with said students. It was mostly a determination to prove to the world that he was far more than an athlete with an empty head, as some aspects of the media liked to paint him.

He realized that she was staring curiously at him again, except this time with a soft, warm smile that made him falter. He was thankful for the dim lights obscuring his reddening cheeks.

"You know you're different from what they say," she said at length. "Not at all what I expected you to be."

He tilted his head to the side, his expression playful. "Not stupid enough for Quidditch?"

She flushed, quickly looking away from him and grabbing the first book in sight. "N-no! I never thought that, even before I actually met you. I just thought that you'd be a little… grumpy." He rolled his eyes at that, but she was far too embarrassed to look up from the random page she opened to notice. "Maybe… oh, I don't know, a little arrogant? Dodgy when I heard that you're from Durmstrang." She sighed and closed the book with a snap when she realised that it was in Russian. "But obviously I was wrong. You're none of those things. You're very kind, and gentle, and also very intelligent. And so are Ivanna and Markus and Dmitri, of course. I'm actually really upset with myself for believing such silly rumours without even trying to get to know you and your friends first."

"Don't be, is ok," he said, taking the book from her hands and glancing at the title. _The Downfall of Harpo the Foul._ He frowned. "I thought people at Hogwarts were stupid and not serious about anything, but then I meet you and now… now I don't think that."

She smiled. "I'm glad to hear it."

He set up a place for them while she browsed the few shelves containing all the books written in English. He cleared the area in the middle of the silent study section of all desks and chairs, and one quick look at the mouldy discoloured rug had him discarding it as well with another flick of his wand. He replaced it with his fur cloak and made it large and cushiony enough for the both of them with a few more flicks of his wand. He signalled some of the candles closer to give better lighting.

He was surprised to see her return with only one book. _A Brief History of Durmstrang Institute._

He stared up at her in disbelief from his place on the makeshift rug. "Herm-own-ninny, we have books here that will put you in Azkaban if you take outside ship."

"Yes, well, I find this more interesting than all that dark rubbish," she sniffed haughtily, shrugging off her school cloak and plopping down next to him. "And I don't fancy going to Azkaban anytime soon anyway."

"Why not? I hear the food is great."

She responded with a playful shove, muttering under her breath about the irony behind his initial judgment of Hogwarts when at the moment he seemed unable to take anything seriously.

She opened her book of choice and before long she was too immersed in the text to fidget under his gaze. They remained comfortably silent for a while, she getting further immersed in the book while he laid back with his wrist supporting the back of his head as his free hand gripped his wand and created lazy, spiral patterns of the dust floating about. The only sound heard besides the occasional flip of a weathered page was the distant, muffled chatter drifting from the dinning room at the other end of the corridor.

"Viktor?"

He dispersed the dust particles floating above him with a single flick before looking up at her. She was now nearly halfway through the book and she was staring at a particular paragraph with a deep frown on her face.

"It says here that there's a painting by Michelangelo somewhere on the ship's ceiling," she said, looking from the book at him. "Surely… surely it's not _the_ Michelangelo, right? He was a Muggle."

"Is he the one who did the painting in the Sistine Chapel?" She nodded. He smiled then nodded towards the ceiling above them. "Then it is, as you say, _the_ Michelangelo."

"But- but that can't be! Surely the Ministry, the school board even, surely they… he was Muggle, how was he allowed to come on board let alone witness magic?"

"He is coming here same way you are now," he explained simply.

He gestured for her to lie down next to him. She hesitated but complied, stuttering and apologising profusely when her hair fanned out beneath her and tickled the side of his face. He merely smiled in response before sending several candles towards the ceiling to cast their light on the painting the book mentioned.

She gasped. "It's so beautiful!"

However neglected the library became over the centuries, the painting was somehow reserved. The characters and colours were as bright and vibrant as if freshly painted.

"The style is Roman, but the story is about the Norse God Freyr courting the giantess Gerdr," he explained, motioning for one of the candles to move towards one of the smaller characters in the corner. "The artist, I think. He put himself as one of Freyr's servants."

"Yes, he did that quite often," she said with a smile. "When I was younger I used to play a game with myself. I'd look through his paintings in my school's art books and try to find his self-inserts. They're quite difficult to find, mind you, because unlike other artists his self-inserts only hint to his presence. I liked that about him. It's humble yet assertive."

He frowned. "I read about him a little. He does not sound humble."

She chuckled. "He was complicated at best."

"Well, he was commissioned by Munter's descendant, called Jörgen, who also became Headmaster. They say he never married because he hated women, not because he liked men, but no one knows why. Some say he was tortured by his mother as a child, maybe even raped." She shuddered visibly at that. He instinctively grabbed her hand. "He hated seeing people together. He was the one that made Durmstrang all-boys school."

"That's not fair," she said.

"He was not a fair man to women," he said. "He was obsessed with the story of Freyr and Gerdr, mostly with Freyr's death and how he believed it was Gerdr's fault. So one day by chance he saw Michelangelo's work in the Sistine Chapel and decided that he wanted him to paint the story of Freyr's death in both libraries on this ship and in the school where he spend all his time, and he especially wanted the blame to be on Gerdr. The school board refused at first, but then he show them samples and they say ok."

"They were that easily swayed, knowing that Michelangelo was a renowned Muggle artist?" she asked incredulously.

"It was a long time ago. There were very few regulations. He even used Imperius Curse on him."

"And they just _allowed_ it?"

"He did not do it to hurt him, only to make him paint. He was Obliviated when he finished, and went back to his home and to his work."

"Was the bloody painting really that important?"

He shrugged. "He was trying to make a point, to teach a lesson to future Durmstrang students. You know the story of Freyr and Gerdr?"

"Nothing other than the fact that Freyr was a Norse god, and I'm only assuming that Gerdr was his wife."

He motioned one of the candles hovering by the ceiling to move to the first scene, where the Norse god in question was spying upon a bathing Gerdr. "This is not how it happened, of course. Freyr first saw her from Asgard. He was feeling very lonely, and very sad. He did not know why. He had everything, he had Skidbladnir, the boar Gullinbursti, and also a great sword whose wielder no one can defeat in battle. Still, he was sad, so he goes to Asgard to look at all the realms below, thinking he will find an answer somewhere. Instead he sees the giantess Gerdr, and she is the most beautiful giantess he's ever seen and he becomes in love with. He wants to have her as his wife and soon.

"He commands his servant to ask for her hand in marriage." Viktor then motions the candle towards the following scene, where the God and the elven servant in the form of the artist's self-insert were negotiating the terms. "His servants says No first. Gerdr was living deep in the land of the giants, and is very dangerous and not friendly to people coming from Asgard. Freyr promises him many things like gold, lands, titles, and women, but the servant says he will only go if Freyr gives him his sword. Freyr is becoming sick with love for Gerdr, so he says Yes and the servant journeys to the land of the giants with his new sword to deliver Freyr's message. Gerdr says Yes, and after nine days they are happily married. Now everything becomes perfect in Freyr's life."

He moved the candle towards the wedding scene just as Freyr and Gerdr kiss. Hermione shuffles closer to his side to get a better view until her arm is looped around his and her cheek is pressed against his shoulder. He chanced a glance at her and saw that she was squinting at the ceiling, unaware of her own actions.

He cleared his throat, then moved the candle towards the final scene: Ragnarök.

"Judgment day," she supplied.

"Yes," he confirmed. He didn't realise that he said it out loud. "Here Loki and his army are facing Odin and all of Asgard. Fenrir is free. He goes for Odin. Jörmungandr is fighting with Thor. The first god to die? Freyr, fighting the fire giant Surtr. Surtr has a powerful sword made of fire, one that only Freyr's sword could defeat, but Freyr is giving his sword to his servant so he could marry Gerdr. He is still strong, of course, and he fights bravely but Surtr's sword is mightier so Freyr dies in battle. Here he is made to look like he is having regrets because is what Jörgen Munter believed. He wanted to teach Durmstrang students to focus on real goals and to not sacrifice anything for women because if they do it will ruin them, like it did with Freyr."

"I see," she said, watching the candles disperse around the entire painting to give her a full view of the entire tale. "And what do you think, as a current student of Durmstrang?"

"I think he is wrong," he said, watching her lift herself a little on her elbows to get a slightly closer look. "Jörgen was thinking like man, and Freyr was god. He knows giving his sword for Gerdr's hand was a very big risk, but he also knows that he will never find anyone like Gerdr so is worth it."

"At the cost of all the gods and goddesses' lives?"

"Of all of Asgard and Midgard and all the nine realms," he affirmed.

She snorted. "I'd love to hear what he _really_ thinks of his decision now."

He stared at her, too enticed by the smooth ivory skin bathed in the moonlight to form a witty retort. His eyes trailed to the delicate arch of her neck as she leaned her head back to look at a distant character in the portrait, her thick curly mane falling off her shoulders to pool on the ground behind her, exposing her previously partially obscured warm brown eyes, pink-dusted cheeks, and slightly parted lips.

Freyr was anything but foolish for giving his sword in exchange of Gerdr's hand, he decided.

He sat up slowly, his hands shaking and his heart hammering in his chest. For the very first time in his life, Viktor Krum was afraid. Their little dance had come to an end. It was time for him to take that leap.

"I am sorry, Herm-own-ninny," he said, his voice gruff. "I am only a man."

She looked at him, her eyebrows knitting slightly at the sudden, seemingly random apology. "What are you–?"

His lips were on hers before she could finish her question and he nearly groaned at the contact. They were much sweeter and softer than he imagined and he wanted more, but he felt her becoming rigid underneath him and it took all his of remaining strength to not crush her with his need, but he was a man still and he felt too deprived at the moment so he lingered a few extra seconds before pulling back slowly.

He hadn't realised that he had laid her back flat on the ground, or that he had at some point hovered above her with his elbows on either side of her shoulders and his long fingers buried deeply in her curls. She looked like a gazelle caught in the headlights in the way she was looking up at him, pale with her chocolate eyes wide and her rosy lips parted.

She had a hand on his chest. Was she trying to stop him? He felt his once racing heart drop to his stomach. Dread replaced the blissful cloud obscuring his vision. He was about to sit up, apologise profusely and offer to take her back to the castle and then try to sleep off the humiliation, but then he felt soft, tentative fingers brush over his cheeks and he stilled. When he looked at her again she had roses blooming on her cheeks and a small, shy smile on her face.

Her eyes were on his lips. He took it as an invitation, but this time not without checking with her first. He leaned in closer, gauging her reaction. Her fingers moved from his cheeks to thread into his hair while her other hand slid from his chest to rest limply on his shoulder. Feeling encouraged, he closed the remaining distance between them.

He smiled against her lips when he felt her hesitating and then clumsily move against his lips, confirming his suspicions that she hasn't been kissed before, at least not properly. His heart swelled with the knowledge. He felt honoured, and that in a way it was also his first real kiss.

In his bliss his focus on the candles hovering many feet above them slipped. They fell with a loud, echoing clatter all around them, going off at once and bathing them in darkness. They broke apart with a gasp. The dull chatters from the dinning hall ceased. Thundering footsteps were heard a moment later, making the couple on the ground scurry to their feet.

"Hide!" Viktor hissed.

He watched her dash between the towering shelves before hastily returning his cloak as well as the silent study area back to its original state. He summoned several random books from the closest shelf to the nearest desk, grabbed Hermione's chosen tome from the ground, and removed the locking and silencing charms from the door just as Karkaroff barrelled in with his wand pointed ahead and ready to strike.

The headmaster released a breath of relief when he recognised Viktor. He slowly lowered his wand. _"Ah, Viktor, it's only you. For a moment I feared that it was an intruder. Anywhere else I would've left it for someone else to handle, but the library with all our books from the school is another issue."_

 _"_ _I see,"_ said Viktor, feigning indifference despite his racing heart. _"I apologise for the disruption, Headmaster. I was borrowing some of the candles for some light reading but lost focus halfway through."_

 _"_ _Light reading, you say,"_ he snorted at the sight of the thick tomes on the desk.

Viktor frowned. Shouldn't he, as the headmaster, be proud rather than disdainful?

Karkaroff stiffened suddenly, as if he just realised something. _"On Valentine's Day, Viktor?"_

 _"_ _Overhyped holiday, as you've said countless times."_

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. _"Surely your, ah, little friend wouldn't think so?"_

He paused, pretending to think, and reminded himself just in time to not use her first name. The more distant they appeared to Karkaroff, the better. _"Miss Granger? She's busy with schoolwork."_

 _"_ _Both of you are busy with schoolwork, on this night of all nights?"_ he repeated, as if to confirm. Viktor nodded, appearing calm and oblivious despite his nerves causing his hands to twitch uncomfortably behind his back. His headmaster's smile didn't reach his eyes. _"How… convenient."_

"Ah, Igor, there you are!"

Dumbledore's sudden intrusion nearly made Viktor utter a sigh of relief. The ageing headmaster was standing by the door dressed in silvery purple robes, his blue eyes behind the half-moon spectacles roving the library. It was only after he took several steps inwards did Karkaroff snap back to action, all too quick to usher Dumbledore out.

"Yes, well, I thought we had a trespasser but all is well!" he said quickly, laughing in the usual cold, detached manner as he came to a halt in front of Dumbledore who was at least a head taller than him. "It's just our champion catching up on schoolwork, hardworking as ever!"

"Ah, yes." Dumbledore looked over Karkaroff's head at Viktor. "I've taken a look at your record, Viktor, if you don't mind doing so. The Goblet chose well, for it's as impeccable as Miss Granger's."

Viktor shook his head, then quickly bowed. It surprised him to hear his own name uttered by someone other than Hermione, for people normally addressed him using his last name. "Thank you, Sir." He hesitated, suddenly aware of both Hermione and Karkaroff listening. "My family… owes you a great debt, Sir. I don't know if you know, but my grandfather was one of Grindelwald's victims."

Dumbledore smiled warmly. "I did know Illiya Krum. I admit that we did not always see eye to eye, but I had great respect for him and I was saddened to hear of his death."

 _Then why do you keep his portrait at the top of a prison tower, if you respected him so much? Why not tell me about it when I first stepped foot in the castle?_

He held his tongue. Now's not the time nor place for such conversations. He needed both headmasters out of here and quickly.

"And it is I who owes your family much more, Viktor," he added. He looked at the book in Viktor's arms and his eyes twinkled when he read the title. "Well, it appears that Igor does not want me seeing the library so I better not linger."

Karkaroff laughed, ushering him without much success towards the door. "Simply need for secrecy, Albus! Surely you understand?"

"I try, if I were to be honest," he replied, finally allowing Karkaroff to steer him towards the door. "Secrecy from Muggles I can understand but from your fellow wizard, Igor?" He suddenly stopped at the door. Even from the distance Viktor could spot a vein popping in Karkaroff's forehead. "Feel free to come by my office if you have any inquiries, Viktor. I will be happy to assist you."

Karkaroff had taken offence before Viktor could process the question or form a response.

"And why would he need to come to you when I am here, _his_ Headmaster?" he demanded, this time not even trying to keep a smile on his face. "Are you trying to insult me on my own ship, Albus?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "I wouldn't dream it, Igor. I was only referring to dilemmas of the heart, relating to Miss Granger if I were to be more specific. She is one of my best students and I'm happy to see that a fine young man such as Viktor is taking an interest in her. I'm not an expert myself, having been stung too many times in my youth, but I would still be happy to offer my advise on the subject should he seek it."

Viktor waited a moment when they left. He was about to call Hermione out of her hiding place when Dumbledore poked his head through the double doors again, making Viktor curse and nearly stumble. He heard Karkaroff urging him away from a short distance.

"Apologies," he said, his eyes twinkling again. Viktor discreetly tucked Hermione's book behind his back. "I was going to tell you to please make sure that you return Miss Granger before curfew, but then I remembered that she's not with you. Pity. The night is perfect for a long moonlight stroll, don't you think? Personally, I'd rather fly in such clear conditions."

Viktor swallowed, unsure of how to answer that.

"Happy reading," he said before ducking his grey head out and closing the double doors behind him.

Viktor waited for their retreating footsteps to fade completely before releasing the breath he's been holding. He leaned back into the desk for support, wiping the sweat from his brow with one hand. That had been too close.

Hermione appeared next to him, looking pale and just as relieved with the outcome.

"You think he knows?" he asked, referring to Dumbledore.

"Oh, I know he does," she snorted.

He looked at her, grinning. "Want to fly with me over the moon?"

"We're doing perfectly well without all that romantic moonlight rubbish, thank you very much."

"Old leaking library is more romantic? Ok, next time we go to haunted shack."

She shoved him playfully. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her against him, caging her in his arms. He silenced her protests by covering her mouth with his.

"Who cares about location anyway," she said breathlessly, smiling up at him. "Happy Valentine's day, Viktor."

* * *

A/N: Harry Potter Wiki says that Durmstrang's founder was Bulgarian, which I found a little odd considering it's location (somewhere close to or between Norway and Sweden) before then I always assumed that it'd have more nordic roots, so I had to go back and tweak those parts a bit to stay true to history/Norse mythology as well as the universe oh-so-lovingly created by J. K. Rowling. Hope it met everyone's expectations regardless!

We'll be going back to the main storyline after this. There will be loads of drama, mystery, unfortunately a little less fluff but also more Viktor/Hermione moments. I should probably also warn you that the story will get darker from this point. Not so much as to bump the rating, of course, but Voldemort is set to return soon so it's inevitable... still, you know how the saying goes. Can't have light without darkness, or darkness without light.

I'm sorry if I butchered that.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: And we're back to the main storyline where things go from 0 to 100 faster than the speed of light :D Just a quick warning before you go: this chapter contains some swearing- or more like a few extra F bombs I should say.

* * *

" _You know she's helping him, right?"_

Viktor knew what and whom Ivanna was referring to but still he asked in a bored tone: " _Who?"_

She rolled her eyes. _"Harry Potter,"_ she whispered. " _He's receiving help from Hermione, and their other friend."_

He glanced at the trio's empty place at the Gryffindor table. They had rushed through their breakfast and then out of the hall just twenty minutes ago. It didn't bother Viktor too much as he already knew that Hermione has been helping Potter all along. She hasn't told him herself of course, no doubt in fear of getting her friend in trouble, but he did catch them practicing the summoning charm the night before the first task and the rest of the pieces fell into place.

He didn't mind it at first, but then Potter's inadequacy got in the way of their meetings. Hermione's attention shifted entirely towards the task of keeping her friend alive and before he knew it Viktor started seeing less and less of Hermione. He was starting to lose his patience with the boy. He really tried not to, reminding himself time and time again that the boy is terribly young and likely still afraid, and that he was more or less forced to participate, but he just couldn't help himself. Every free hour of the week following Valentine's was spent with Hermione and those moments were perhaps the closest he'd ever get to heaven, but then she was abruptly whisked away from him because Potter remembered that he had 'incomplete assignments' he needed help with.

The few times he managed to get a hold of her he noticed that Hermione still occasionally shies from his touch and from his kisses, and he understood and gave her space when needed as she was relatively new to this kind of intimacy, but most of time he doesn't feel the need to hold back. He doesn't have to be as guarded with his words and with his actions anymore and he absolutely loves every bit of it, but he still makes sure to maintain some boundaries in fear of spoiling the progress they made. They were getting closer and he just couldn't get enough of her. It's only been a few days since they last spoke to each other and he's already restless with longing. He doesn't even want to think about leaving her and going back to Bulgaria after the tournament.

 _"_ _And I am receiving help from Karkaroff and Fleur from Maxime. I'm pretty sure Cedric is the only champion not receiving any kind of help,"_ he said. He smiled wryly. _"Makes him more worthy of the title than all three of us combined, doesn't it?"_

She frowned, dissatisfied with his answer.

 _"_ _Isn't she_ your _girlfriend?"_ demanded Markus, surprisingly upset. _"Shouldn't she be helping_ you _rather than that Potter boy?"_

 _"_ _Of course she shouldn't be helping him. Viktor is competing against her school,"_ said Poliakoff in Hermione's defence. _"And Harry Potter was her friend before she got involved with Viktor, whom she's only starting to get properly acquainted with. Her loyalties will obviously lie with her long-time friend first."_

 _"_ _And I don't need anybody's help,"_ added Viktor, ignoring the small nagging voice at the back of his head that wasn't too happy with what Poliakoff said about Hermione's loyalties. _"I solved the riddle of the second task weeks ago."_

 _"_ _She's playing you for a fool!"_ hissed Markus.

Viktor sighed. He set his mug down. _"Did Karkaroff set you up to this?"_

 _"_ _Any idiot with eyes can tell, Krum."_

 _"_ _I agree,"_ said Ivanna next to him, surprising all three men. _"I don't think she's doing it intentionally but the truth is you haven't exactly been yourself lately."_

He glared at her. Who was she to say what he's normally like on regular days? She hardly knows him herself.

She sighed tiredly when she caught his glare. _"Just don't lose your head, ok? You're still our champion and we're all counting on you."_

 _"_ _I see that your faith in me is as strong as ever,"_ he said sarcastically.

She looked him over, her expression scornful. _"Can you blame me?"_

He chose to ignore that. _"Everything's under control. The Cup is as good as ours."_

 _"_ _I'll hold you to it."_

He snorted. _"I wouldn't expect anything less."_

Poliakoff and Markus looked at each other then back at Viktor and Ivanna facing them, the first now silently enjoying his coffee while the latter busied herself with the local newspaper.

 _"_ _Who would've known that I'd live to see you two go through an entire meal without hexing each other,"_ said Poliakoff, shaking his head.

 _"_ _Man, I really don't like this school,"_ said Markus, sulking into his untouched breakfast. _"Ever since we got here everyone started acting weird."_

 _"_ _So I take it that Gertrude is still not talking to you?"_ asked Ivanna without looking up from her paper.

Markus glared at her, his ears turning red either from embarrassment or anger. _"Shut up, Morozova. You too, Krum."_

 _"_ _I didn't say anything."_

 _"_ _What did I just fucking say about talking?"_

Viktor waited a moment, allowing his opponent to loosen up and drop his guard a little. _"You know I hear that chocolates and a long, heartfelt apology usually does the trick."_

 _"_ _How badly do you want your head split open?"_

 _"_ _I'm only trying to help, Markus, though personally I'd rather you receive another Howler instead. I deeply regret missing the first."_

Viktor barely managed to dodge the bread roll tossed at him. He suspects that he would've been dodging knives instead had Karkaroff not been watching them from the staff's table.

* * *

Viktor wasn't as prepared as he thought. Everything had gone wrong.

The day started out well enough for him to miss all the signs. He slept well and had his morning jog that he managed to enjoy despite the chilly weather. The trio were missing from the breakfast table but Viktor assumed that they were still helping Potter with last minute preparations. After all, Hermione had promised to meet him by the ship before the second task. He had no reason to worry so he didn't, not when he found that the S.P.E.W badge she gave him was exactly where he left it nor when he found her missing from their designated meeting spot, for he once again assumed that Potter was holding her back.

Harry Potter finally arrived ten minutes before the task was set to begin, much to Karkaroff and Maxime's evident displeasure. He took his place next to Viktor, panting and wheezing and looking horribly out of place in his school robes. He obviously overslept and had to make a decision between changing into his swimming trunks or making it on time for the tournament. Viktor thought it odd that he should be late in the first place, considering that he was with Hermione who was punctual enough to keep her mind on the clock as well as the task at hand. He scanned the crowd for the familiar bushy head and brown eyes but found her missing amidst the sea of red and gold. He couldn't spot her between Ron's siblings or their associates either.

He frowned, turning back towards the lake. He saw Potter grasping his sides from the corner of his eyes, seemingly unaware or unconcerned of his friends' absence.

Ivanna coughed in the distance behind him where his peers stood, signaling for his attention. He looked over his shoulders at her. _What?_ He wanted to ask. She had a cautionary, almost worried look on her face. She nodded at the lake then brought her index finger to the side of her head and tapped twice.

He rolled his eyes. _Right. Head's in the game._

Except it wasn't. Something didn't feel right. He looked at the crowd again. Hermione and Ron were still missing.

"…The champions have precisely one hour to retrieve what was taken from them," Ludo Bagman's voice droned over his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. "Something precious, of irreplaceable value, something that they will miss most…"

He smirked. He wondered what this 'irreplaceable, valuable' thing the judges chose for him to retrieve, if not his broom or his badge, or rather _who_ they–

He felt like he had just been hit with a sledgehammer. He wished he were, for apparently his skull was worth smashing after all. How could he have _not_ considered a hostage-like situation?

Once again he was afraid but this time it was a different kind of fear, one he's never felt for years and hoped that he never would for a long time. He spun towards the crowd again, searching frantically for the third time but finding nothing but the grim faces of Hermione's friends huddled together.

Bagman blew his whistle. He pointed his wand at his head, his brain suddenly too congested to think clearly or to focus on anything besides gills and sight. He leaped into the glossy surface of the lake without a second thought to the judges, the other champions, or to the crowd behind him.

 _Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, STUPID, STUPID, STUPID!_

He could breathe and he could see clearly, but he botched the teeth and he forgot the fins he worked so hard to perfect. They would've made for a much smoother, faster swim, but he decided to manage without them. He didn't have time to experiment with nonverbal spells. Hermione was held hostage somewhere deep by a tribe of mermaids who might or might not put up a fight, or worse yet, hurt her should he unintentionally offend them.

He swam for what felt like hours, looking into every cave and swimming so deep he could barely make out the light streaming from the sun beyond the surface. He caught movements within the weed beds and swiftly dove into one, only to be greeted by a startled Grindylow that hissed at him before scurrying off.

 _Who would've thought that those pesky Grindylows are afraid of sharks…_

 _Focus!_

He charged out of the weeds and bumped straight into Fleur who was about to dive in herself, no doubt to investigate the movements within the same way he did, except she saw his shark head before the rest of his body and went into a full blown panic. She screamed into the bubble she conjured around her face and kicked the water to propel herself backwards, landing several hard blows to his chest that shoved him back into the sea of weeds below him.

 _What the fuck, Fleur!_ He tried to curse, shielding his throbbing chest. _It's me, you idiot!_ Bubbles floated over his eyes. _Right. Shark._

Several Grindylows sprung from their hiding places at once and latched onto Fleur's legs. She screamed and reached for her wand but one of the water demons bit hard on the hand holding it, making her instantly drop it. Viktor rushed towards her thinking that he'd scare the creatures away, but they only tightened their hold on their prey and dragged her towards the weed bed.

 _Now what?_ He thought with a frustrated growl, coming to a halt in hopes of getting them to pause as well. They continued dragging her deeper, delighted and encouraged by her screams and struggles.

He contemplated leaving. He wasn't supposed to be looking out for her, anyway. So what if it was technically his fault she got into this mess? So what if she might get seriously injured? She knew what she was getting herself into when she put her name in the Goblet, as he did when his turn came. He certainly didn't sign up for the task of saving his damsel-in-distress of a rival, and yet he couldn't bring himself to leave. _Now what?_ He thought again.

Cedric swam into the scene. He grabbed both of Fleur's outstretched hands and pulled with all his might. Viktor charged towards them without a second thought, causing all the Grindylows to dislodge themselves from Fleur's flesh and dive back into their hiding place. Cedric summoned Fleur's wand when he was sure that they were high enough and out of reach. Viktor caught the salty, metallic stench of blood on his way towards them.

"You!" He heard the muffled screech from Fleur's bubble and saw her once fearful blue eyes blazing with fury as she pointed an accusing, delicate finger at him. "You wanted to get me killed!"

"Not now," came Cedric's own muffled voice from behind his bubble, swimming between the two champions. "Hostages are on the other side of the lake. They've got your sister, Fleur."

Fleur ceased her verbal assault on Viktor to look up fearfully at Cedric. "Gabrielle? They have Gabrielle?! She can't swim!"

"They've also got Ron and Hermione," he added, looking at Viktor, his expression darkening, "and… and Cho. We've got to hurry _."_

Viktor sped towards the opposite direction. His muscles ached from the pressure he was putting on them but he forced himself onwards, cursing himself on the side for not taking a moment to work on those fins. They would've come in handy right about now.

He found the village easily enough. The merpeople, it seemed, were also afraid of sharks. They hissed and dashed away from him as quickly and fearfully as the Grindylows did. He reached the hostages just as Cedric wrapped his arms around Cho and pulled her with him towards the surface. A cluster of mermaids were harassing Potter but they left at the sight of Viktor approaching. He ignored the boy and the other hostages and went straight for Hermione. Her skin had taken on a ghostly green hue and her expression as still as those of the drowned. He did the first thing he could think of. He grabbed the rope in both hands and started gnawing on it but the it remained intact, for his shark teeth were sharp but also jaggedly aligned and poorly transfigured. He felt a sharp jab on his shoulder. He turned with a growl, thinking it was a mermaid trying to stop him, but instead he was met with a startled Potter pushing a sharp rock at him. He grabbed it from his hands and cut the rope anchoring Hermione with one clean swipe.

They broke through the surface to the roaring cheers of the crowd. Viktor found it difficult to breathe or to make out the blurry forms beyond the riverbank, then he remembered his transformation. He quickly transformed himself back, relieved with the knowledge that he hadn't lost his wand amidst all the madness below. Hermione had woken from her coma at some point and was thrashing and coughing up water when his vision finally cleared. He quickly led her towards the docks where the school's mediwitch fussed over Cedric, Cho, and a horribly scratched, hysterical Fleur.

The mediwitch started fussing over them the instant they were removed from the water, throwing thick towels over their shoulders and shoving warming potions in their hands. Viktor took one look at Hermione's pale skin, chattering teeth, and shivering form and he swiftly pulled his own towel from his shoulders and draped it on top of hers.

"I don't need it," he urged when she started protesting and pushing the towel back at him.

She allowed him to wrap both towels around her. They were out of the water and she had already downed her potion but she still couldn't stop shivering and he was getting sick with worry. He didn't know how or when his arms wandered around her small frame, but she was pressed against his bare chest and it felt like he was holding a block of ice rather than a living, breathing human being. He quickly pushed his potion at her.

"N-n-n-no…" she barely managed to say through bluish, trembling lips. She turned her head away.

"Please," he whispered against her ear, tipping the tiny flask towards her lips. "I swear, Herm-own-ninny, I am fine."

Her weak protests died out. She drank his potion. He relaxed when he saw some colour return to her skin, but not enough to let her go. He never, _ever_ wants to let her go.

"Viktor," she said, her voice low and hoarse. She cleared her throat. He leaned back a little to look at her. She blushed and looked away. "Um, E-English… p-please?"

He chuckled, breathless still from the strain he had put his body through. He hadn't realised that he's been mumbling in Bulgarian in her hair. It probably sounded like utter nonsense to her, but for him it was the contents of his heart and soul laid bare. He was praising whatever god kept her safe. He was admitting his fear of losing her, telling her without restraint how scared and worried he's been the entire time despite knowing in his heart that the judges wouldn't be so rash as to put an innocent in harm's way. He also begged her to never leave his side. He told her how he was willing to give up his education, his career, and his inheritance for her, _everything_ and _anything_ that could potentially pull them apart.

He pressed his lips to her wet curls. "I was saying that you are very special to me, Herm-own-ninny. I have never felt this way about any other girl."

She looked up at him, her eyes wide.

He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against hers. "Come… come see me, in Bulgaria. This summer, if… if you are not busy. I would like you to visit me."

"Oh, Viktor, I–"

She stopped, suddenly becoming stiff in his arms. The whispers around them rose. There were too many for him to properly make out, but he recognised his name and hers and the Yule Ball and Potter's for some reason. He heard a shutter and then a flash. His eyes snapped open. He looked up and caught a boy in the crowd holding a camera to his grinning face, pointing the offending thing towards their general direction and snapping more pictures.

Harry Potter emerged from the waters with Ron and Gabrielle. Fleur emitted a cry of relief then rushed to pull Gabrielle out of the water and into her arms, speaking rapidly in French and showering her with kisses. It took both Madam Maxime and the mediwitch to pry the younger Delacour free. Hermione quickly pushed away from Viktor when she spotted Harry coming towards them, dripping wet and wrapped tightly in his own towel.

"Well done, Harry!" she cried joyfully, throwing her arms around his neck. "You did it, you figured it out all by yourself!"

Potter looked pleased. "Well… yea, that's right!" he said, unnecessarily loud, as if he wanted someone to hear it.

Viktor's fingers curled into his palms, unable to resist the hot white rage taking over his senses. Was that meant for him?

Hermione shook her head, then hugged Potter again.

Viktor swallowed with some difficulty. "You have a water beetle in your hair, Herm-own-ninny," he said lamely, trying to draw her attention back onto himself.

She brushed at her hair impatiently and missed the beetle. Viktor inched closer to untangle the small, glittering insect. She slapped his hand away just as he managed to get a hold of it, sending the creature flying into the air and away from them. Viktor looked at her, stunned, but she didn't seem to realise what she did as she was still too busy gushing over Potter's success.

 _He came in last!_ He wanted to scream. _I was part-shark, for fuck's sake!_

Fleur came down towards them, still covered in cuts. She blabbered her thanks to Potter and Weasley, then proceeded to shower them with kisses that had the blood flowing back to their cheeks faster than any warming potion. Viktor saw Hermione turn away from them, looking absolutely furious.

Viktor thought that things couldn't possibly get any worse from that point, but then the scores were announced. He came in third place, after _Potter,_ for some moral fibre merit that earned the boy enough points to propel him towards first place to be tied with Cedric. Viktor clapped with the others at the announcement, but he couldn't hide his displeasure. He wanted to shout at the top of his lungs and to even throw a tantrum, however unruly and childish it seemed, but he felt too small and too humiliated to do anything. What he wanted even more was for the Earth below him to open up and swallow him whole.

The urge to curse Potter rose to dangerous levels when Hermione cheered loudly and threw herself at him again. Everything he just did, everything he just _said,_ did it mean absolutely nothing to her? Did she not consider for one moment how difficult it has been him to completely drop his guard for her? Did she not understand how much she meant to him, how much he was willing to risk for her, and how he's never once considered doing anything at all for all the models and actresses and heiresses that threw themselves at his feet? What had _Potter_ ever done for her, other than being inconsiderate and needy and utterly useless? She might as well have participated in the tournament herself.

The crowd dispersed at Bagman's signal. Hermione trailed after her friends without a glance towards Viktor, merrily praising and chattering besides Potter. Viktor stared after her, stunned and hopeless. Like many young men his age he has been rejected by women before, and sometimes it did hurt his ego, but never once did it sting this bad.

* * *

Markus was waiting for him by the ship. Viktor squared his shoulders and braced himself for all kinds of insults but Markus surprised him by hurling a fist into his stomach instead, knocking the wind out of him and sending him to his knees. Viktor's hands sank into the mud as he coughed and wheezed by Markus's boots.

 _"_ _I fucking told you,"_ Markus growled, his voice dripping with rage, _"I told you they were playing you for a fool but you didn't listen. Look at you now. Look at_ all _of us. You've just made us the laughing stock of all of Europe, Krum. The whole world was watching. I bet they'll have lots of things to say about this in the papers tomorrow, and as sick as this might sound I'm actually really looking forward to it."_

 _"_ _I didn't–"_ he tried to defend himself, only to be taken halfway by a violent coughing fit.

Markus kicked him in the same spot, sending him sprawling into the mud. _"Don't you fucking say another word, Krum. I don't care about your precious Snitches or whose son you are. I'll knock your teeth out if I hear another word from you. We were all counting on you and you fucked us over, and I'll be damned if I don't make sure you regret it for the rest of the year."_

He spat on him then turned around and marched towards the ship. Viktor remained still on the mud, unable to move and hardly able to draw breath from the pain. His insides felt like they were going to explode. He was certain that he'd get a nasty bruise in the morning. There are simple, easily brewed potions he could use to take care of it, of course, but something told him to leave it. Something told him that he deserved it and more. He let his school down, and his family and entire country for that matter, and he got absolutely nothing out of it, not the girl of his dreams to ease the pain of his shattered pride nor a friendly hand to help him back on his feet.

A sturdy yet feminine pair of boots came into view. He jerked up, wincing from the sharp pain that shot through him from the spot Markus assaulted. He closed his eyes and gripped his sides. He took a slow, deep breath before straightening himself to fully face a very livid Ivanna standing before him with her arms crossed over her chest.

 _"_ _You can save your breath,"_ he rasped, then cleared his throat. _"I just spoke with Markus."_

 _"_ _What the fuck was that?"_ she snapped, ignoring his request. _"What did I tell you about keeping your head in the game? You said everything was under control and now you're in third place. Care to explain yourself?"_

 _"_ _No."_

 _"_ _By which you mean…?"_

 _"_ _Exactly what the word is supposed to mean. I don't owe you an explanation."_

 _"_ _You owe me an explanation and so much more,"_ she said through gritted teeth, her nails digging into her biceps. _"Do you even realise what your actions back there cost us?"_

 _"_ _It's not too late. I still have the third task, if I could just–"_

She laughed mirthlessly. _"Don't you get it? It's not about the fucking tournament anymore. You were supposed to represent Durmstrang, Viktor, one of the most respected wizarding schools in all of Europe, but what do you do instead? You drag its great name through the mud with that pathetic little display of yours."_

 _"_ _What do you want me to do?" he snapped. "She could've gotten hurt, Ivanna. She shouldn't have been there. She didn't put her name in the Goblet,_ I _did. I signed up for this. I should be the one fighting for my life,_ not _her."_

 _"_ _Oh, spare me already! You and I both know that she wasn't in any real danger. You just wanted to be her knight in shining armour but got upstaged by a fourteen-year-old boy that can't seem to dress himself or to get a hold of a decent hairbrush. Very classy, indeed."_

 _"_ _You don't know what you're talking about–"_

 _"_ _You're right, I don't, and it's all wrong because it should've been_ me _out there. You've done nothing so far but prove yourself inadequate and unfit to compete. Now I know that you and Karkaroff did something to that Goblet. I don't know if it's got anything to do with the Potter boy getting involved but mark my words, Viktor, I_ will _reveal you for the pathetic coward you really are."_

 _"_ _You wouldn't last a minute in there,"_ he hissed back at her, making her freeze in her spot. _"Face it. The Goblet chose me, not you. You can talk big all you want, Ivanna, but the sooner you accept the truth the easier it will be for you in the long run."_

She gave him one of her icy smiles. _"You first."_

 _"_ _What?"_

 _"_ _Admit it. Accept the truth, as you put it. You're not worth shit compared to Potter. And Hermione is a smart girl. I'm surprised it took her this long to figure it out."_

Panic seized him. He pushed it down as hard as he can, but somehow he knew that Ivanna saw it. Still, he asked: _"Figure out what?"_

She studied him, then sighed and shook her head in disappointment. _"There. That's all it took to bring you down."_

 _"_ _How the fuck am I supposed to know that they award extra points for some moral fibre bullshit?"_ he snarled, more irritated at her poking the chink in his armour rather than the judges' verdict. _"I would've been second had Potter–"_

 _"_ _Second place, Viktor? Please tell me how that's supposed to be better."_ She scoffed. _"Some champion you turned out to be! But just you wait. I'm far from finished with you or Karkaroff."_

She stormed off before he could say anything, leaving him standing alone by the riverbank covered entirely in mud and trembling with anger. Too much had happened already. His mind was confused and crowded enough as it is. The urge to scream into the heavens was overbearing. He still doesn't know how he managed to refrain from doing so in that state of mind.

By the time the lunch hour arrived Viktor sat in his usual spot and ignored the fact that Ivanna, Poliakoff, Markus, and most of his peers had taken their places at the farthest end of the table, leaving him stranded in the middle of overhyped Slytherins. Karkaroff was surprisingly cheerful despite the shadow under his eyes, but Viktor decided not to ponder on it. He just couldn't afford to lose his sanity on top of everything else he lost that day.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: to the many lovely newcomers- hello :D just a quick friendly reminder that anything written in _italics_ is being spoken in Bulgarian.

* * *

The sun was shining too brightly behind his eyelids. He turned on his side with a groan. Every muscle in his body protested the shift but he ignored the pain. It wasn't exactly the first time he's fallen asleep outdoors. This time he just ended up on the roof of an abandoned prison tower rather than the usual tree trunk or soft grass.

He cracked his eyes open, apprehensive still of the sun's glaring rays. His sleepy, blurred vision cleared to focus on an old man watching him from behind a grand oak desk with a deep frown on his face. Viktor though the man's resemblance to his own father was striking. He even had the distinguished trademark features of every male Krum that is the thick eyebrows, black eyes, and hooked nose. The one thing that set him apart from Viktor and his father was his stockier built.

Viktor closed his eyes with a snort. He couldn't help it. He thought the whole thing was hilarious and he couldn't wait to tell his father all about it once he's done berating him about his performance in the third task.

He ignored the sound of retreating footsteps and tried to go back to sleep. Karkaroff probably wouldn't appreciate him sleeping in and missing breakfast, but Viktor felt like prioritising himself for once in his life. He was tired and he felt like sleeping in and he didn't give a damn about whether or not he'll look like a sore loser to their rivals.

By the end of the day Viktor found himself deeply regretting that decision.

At that point he had become too famished to skip lunch. He was on his way to the Great Hall when the whispers started. He ignored it at first in favour of his growling stomach, but then they got louder and they didn't sound anything like the type he'd usually hear. For one, they were not about him, or rather not _just_ about him. Harry Potter and Hermione's names were thrown around but there were so many people whispering all at once and all at varying volumes that he couldn't tell exactly what they were talking about, and every time he stopped they'd quickly drop their gaze and hurry past him.

It also didn't help that Poliakoff was pacing frantically by the entrance while holding a rolled-up newspaper behind his back.

" _Oh good, you're here!_ " said Poliakoff when he saw Viktor approaching him, breathing a sigh of relief.

" _What's going on?"_ asked Viktor, craning his neck to look over Poliakoff's head and at the hall within. There was nothing unusual. Students and staff members alike were talking and dinning as they normally did everyday. " _What are you doing out here?"_

" _Preserving the peace, or what's left of it."_ Poliakoff pulled him away from the entrance and to the side. " _Viktor, you need to leave. Now."_

" _Oh for fuck's sake, I said I'll–"_

 _"_ _This isn't about the tournament."_

 _"_ _Yes, I get it, the school's supposedly untarnished reputation–"_

 _"_ _I'm being serious here, Viktor! Markus has it for you, and Karkaroff,"_ he shook his head, " _well h_ _e's certainly not holding back. He's been accusing their headmaster of all kinds of things, all the while using… very colourful language. I think I'm more impressed with Dumbledore's patience than with everything else he's known for."_

Viktor prickled at that. Here he was worried about looking like a sore loser when his classmates and headmaster have already made him out to be this petulant, spoiled little boy that can't accept defeat. " _What's this got anything to do with Dumbledore? I lost the task. This is on me._ Just _me, not Dumbledore or Hermione or anyone else."_

 _"_ _What? Of course not! I told you this isn't about the tournament at all–"_

 _"_ _And I can speak for myself, so Karkaroff can take all that Durmstrang pride and shove it up his–"_

" _Yes, I know, he's a royal pain, but I told you already that this has got nothing to do with the tournament or the second task!"_ he said hurriedly in one breath. _"I'm telling you, Viktor, it's not pretty in there! You showing up now when you've been missing half the day will only cause more tensions."_

" _What tensions?"_ he snapped, loud and impatient, causing Poliakoff to panic and hiss at him to lower his voice. " _What could've possibly happened since the fucking second task everyone fucking refuses to forget about?!"_

With a frustrated growl Poliakoff shoved the rolled-up newspaper at his hands. "This _happened! Now will you please move along before someone sees you?"_

Viktor unrolled the paper in his hands. He was greeted with a large coloured photograph of Harry Potter at the front page. _Nothing new,_ he thought. His face has been all over the papers since his name got mysteriously placed into the Goblet of Fire. There were ridiculous, over-the-top stories usually accompanying such photographs but Viktor never cared enough about the Boy Who Lived to read up on his life past Voldemort's demise. Then he saw the small picture on the corner, clearly taken from a great distance during the second task. It was of Hermione leaping out of his arms and into Potter's.

 _Harry Potter's Secret Heartache,_ the title read. The article itself was much worse.

" _B-Bulgarian Bonbon?!"_ he sputtered, turning red.

Poliakoff hesitated. " _So… that's the only thing you're upset with?"_

Viktor lowered the paper to glower at Poliakoff.

He swallowed. " _Ok, here's an idea. Why don't you go check on Hermione? I haven't seen her coming in so I'm assuming that she's still at the hospital wing."_

 _"_ _Hospital wing?"_ he repeated, feeling his anger and frustration at the whole ordeal diminish. _"Did something happen to her?"_

" _Oh yes, she's had a little accident with some hate mail at breakfast. It didn't look serious, just painful, otherwise surely Harry Potter would've stayed with her. Still, I imagine that it's been a particularly long day for her so she'll really appreciate you dropping by to check up on her."_

He looked at his shorter schoolmate, long and hard. " _So you don't think I'm under the influence of a Love Potion?"_

Poliakoff snorted. " _Have you read any of this woman's past articles? Ridiculously exaggerated and possibly made-up, each and every piece. She couldn't even spell your name right and your name is everywhere."_

" _From the looks of it everyone believes her."_

 _"_ _You and I don't,"_ said Poliakoff. He frowned. " _You don't, do you? You don't actually believe that Hermione and Harry Potter are together, or that she's been using you to get his attention?"_

In his heart he didn't believe a single word of Rita Skeeter's, but Viktor also believes what he sees and what his eyes saw by the lake confirmed everything Skeeter wrote besides the use of Love Potions.

He folded the paper and tucked it into his robes. _"I have to go. If anyone asks I'm training on deck."_

He left before Poliakoff could answer. He had truly intended on doing a bit of physical combat training on their makeshift arena below deck, mostly to vent and to distract himself rather than train for the final task, but despite his now bitter feelings towards Hermione she was still occupying his thoughts.

He stopped in the middle of a deserted corridor. From the window he could see his school's ship moored by the lake, large and sinister and unmoving since the day they arrived. He thought of the first time he took Hermione on board. She had been so nervous of getting caught, so scared of getting Viktor into trouble, that she almost stood her ground if it hadn't been for her curiosity. She thought it was the most magical place she's ever been to besides Hogwarts itself. She would've spent days in the library if she could.

Why didn't she just tell him that she's been in love with Potter the entire time? Until that moment in the library, until he stole her first kiss, the two of them were only friends. He obviously wanted more from her and he made it very clear, apparently so clear that even Skeeter noticed, but she still could've said something. He'd respect her choice no matter what, even if it didn't include him in the picture. He thought she'd know that by now. Was he so intimidating and forceful with his affections that she couldn't find it in herself to tell him the truth?

He took out the folded newspaper and read over the article again, this time slowly. It didn't hurt any less than when he read it the first time.

One particular line caught his eyes. He felt the dark clouds hovering above him finally clearing. _Krum is openly smitten with Miss Granger,_ it read. _He has already invited her to stay with him in Bulgaria over the summer holidays and insists that he has 'never felt this way about any other girl.'_

Exactly as he said it, word for word. How did she know?

He turned around and walked the opposite direction towards the hospital wing.

* * *

Both her hands were covered in bandages. The Mediwitch was in the process of unwrapping them when he made his presence known. Hermione's demeanour changed when her eyes landed on him lingering by the shadows, but not in the bright welcoming way he's usually greeted with. She appeared nervous and dismayed, and although the smile she gave him was polite he couldn't help but equate it to the ones he'd give to especially obsessive fans with VIP passes.

It hurt so much that he nearly abandoned his pride and left. Was having him as a champion really that bad?

"Please come in, Mr. Krum," said the Mediwitch kindly. "I could use an extra pair of hands right about now. I know you're likely busy so I won't take much of your time! This ointment is quite strong and Miss Granger is fidgety as it is, but if you can hold her still I should be finished in no time."

Viktor looked at Hermione's now exposed hands. The boils were no longer full but the skin was still red and irritated. She wouldn't be released at least until suppertime.

"Bubotuber, undiluted," he guessed as he approached the witches and sat on the edge of the bed. He has had enough accidents in his father's laboratory as a boy to know from mere sight and smell.

"Right you are," said the Mediwitch as she mixed the ingredients of the healing ointment in a bowl. "You know people often say that boys are wild and uncontrollable, but sometimes I think it's the girls you ought to be afraid of." When she was satisfied with the mixture she placed her wand on the nightstand and grabbed a brush. "Now if you will please hold Miss Granger's wrists, Mr. Krum."

He cupped his hands over his mouth and muttered an incantation that turned his skin ice cold. He grabbed Hermione's wrists just as the Mediwitch started brushing the ointment over the deflated boils. Hermione gasped at the sudden, unexpected coldness but her hands didn't twitch. It worked.

The Mediwitch smiled. "That was the first trick your father taught me."

He looked up at her. "You know my father?"

"Stefan? Oh yes, I knew him very well. He became my mentor when I completed my internship and first started working at St. Mungo's as an official Healer, but that was quite a long time ago, even before he retired to become a Potions Master. I could never understand why. He was a brilliant Healer, and also a great teacher. He was always so gentle and patient. I owe so much of my knowledge to him, you know. Tell me, is he doing well? I do wonder about him sometimes."

"He is ok." Probably really upset with Viktor if one were to judge by the many unopened letters waiting for him at his dorm, but otherwise the Bulgarian patriarch was in perfect health as far as Viktor could tell. "He is specialising in healing potions. Provides for all the hospitals in Bulgaria."

"So I heard," she said as she set aside the ointment to grab a fresh roll of gauze bandage. "Free of charge as well, if I'm not mistaken."

He nodded. "He is also sometimes working with Muggle research facilities."

"Really, with Muggles?" she asked, perplexed. "And your ministry allows it?"

"The Muggles he works with don't know about magic. They think he is like them."

"Ah, yes, I remember now! He's studied in Muggle universities when he was young, didn't he? Had a fascination with Muggle medicine and natural remedies. He had a plan of implementing their methods into our own, but then had a change of heart when he realised that some of the side effects of Muggle medicine are too dangerous and not worth the risk." She shook her head at the idea. "I thought it was pretty straightforward from the very beginning. Magic will always be safer, because with magic you don't need to experiment as much before you get it right, but your father was very stubborn. And also quite the oddball, even amongst Healers. Respected, mind you, and brilliant, but still very odd. I mean look at this method of his you're using right now! It's true that the cold distracts the patient from the pain, but it causes _you_ pain since the curse was originally cast on your skin."

Hermione's eyes immediately dropped to Viktor's hands. She was horrified to see that they had already turned blue. She attempted to tug her hands free but Viktor was quick to tighten his grip.

"Hold still, Miss Granger!" the Mediwitch scolded, now moving faster with the bandages. "I'm almost finished."

"But Madam Pomfrey, Viktor's hands are literally freezing!" she pleaded.

"They're perfectly fine, girl! It's a very mild curse, so mild than I wouldn't be surprised if a first year can throw it off. A simple warming charm will do the trick. Did you honestly think I'd put a champion from a visiting school in harm's way?"

Hermione flushed. "N-no, of course not. I just don't think it's necessary. I can hold still for a few minutes, just like I did this morning."

"This morning the boils were full of pus, Miss Granger. They did a fine job of numbing the pain." She cut the bandage free from the roll and tied it over Hermione's knuckles. "And that's the last of it. Now give me your hands, Mr. Krum." She picked up her wand and pointed it at Viktor's hands. They were instantly warmed and restored to their original colour. Satisfied with her work, she started collecting her equipment. "I shall send something for you to eat, Miss Granger. Do send my regards to your father, Mr. Krum. Poppy Pomfrey, his trainee from 1974."

He promised her that he would do just that.

Some time passed without them saying anything. Viktor didn't move from his spot on the bed. Hermione was very obviously trying to not fidget under his gaze. He knew it unnerved her when people stared at her, but he really wasn't trying to be rude or to make her feel uncomfortable. He himself was struggling on the inside. He had so many things to say and so many questions to ask, but he couldn't think of where or how to even start. One thing he definitely knew was that they desperately needed to talk about the second task and about Skeeter's article.

"Why didn't you–"

"I didn't know that–"

They spoke then stopped themselves at the same time. They looked at each other for a beat then smiled, truly smiled in the same way they used to before the second task.

"I'm sorry, go ahead," she said.

He shook his head. "Please. You start."

She gave a dismissive wave. "Oh, it's nothing important! I was just going to say that I didn't know that your father is a Potions Master, or that he was a Healer before that, or that he studied at a Muggle university. He sounds like a very interesting man."

He smiled. He wouldn't call his father interesting, at least not from his perspective, but she was beginning to sound like herself again and it was enough to drown all his doubts and fears. He had missed her so, _so_ much. "He will like you, too."

She laughed nervously, blushing faintly and averting her eyes to her bandaged hands. "Oh, I don't know about that…"

"He will," he insisted. The request to meet his parents was dangling at the tip of his tongue but he quickly swallowed it. "My father likes smart people. You are very smart."

"You're smart too, Viktor."

He shrugged. His most recent decisions would say otherwise.

"You just cast a nonverbal curse on yourself. That _is_ smart, though I'd rather you don't hurt yourself for my sake."

"Why not? Is small pain. If it makes you better I will take it."

He immediately regretted saying that, even though it was harmless and not nearly as affectionate or flirtatious as the many other things he's said to her in the past. She had gotten quiet again. She was avoiding his stare by picking at her bandages.

He gently cradled her hands in his, mostly to get her to stop picking at her bandages than to make her look at him again. "Who did this to you?"

She shrugged. "I got it in the mail. It's my fault, really. I was warned not to open them but I did anyway."

He paused. "Mine or Potter's?"

"Well I didn't get the chance to see who sent this rather lovely gift," her eyes flickered to her hands then back to his face, "but the ones I did read were all from Harry's." she snorted. "I think yours would be more happy than angry."

"This is not funny, Herm-own-ninny," he said, staring hard at her. She squirmed at that and his expression softened. "Fans can be crazy sometimes. You could get hurt. Is Potter doing something about this?"

She frowned. "What are you talking about? The senders were all anonymous."

"He can still say something, make announcement. Tell his fans to not attack his friends."

She took a moment to think about it while Viktor tried to calm himself. He didn't need Hermione to say it. Somehow he knew that Potter wasn't going to do anything about it because he's as useless and thick as boys normally are his age and it did nothing but add fuel to Viktor's rage. It was getting to the point where Hermione was getting physically assaulted and Potter could care less as long as she's still willing to help him with his homework or with the tournament.

 _And yet she still chose him over you…_

He shook his head. He will have to talk to the boy soon. "Are you ok now?"

He felt her flexing her fingers in his hands. She winced. "I'm… feeling a lot better than I did this morning. I think I'll be fine in a few hours."

He will _definitely_ have words for Harry Potter, saviour of their world or not.

"Really, Viktor, I'm fine," she said, giving him her best reassuring smile. She slipped her hands from his grip. "I appreciate you taking the time to visit, but you really don't have to stay. In fact you should go and have lunch. I'll be out in a few hours anyway."

Viktor was no simpleton, but right now he wished he were. She was trying to get rid of him and he could tell from the tone of her voice and from the way her eyes pleaded with him to relent.

He had come because he was worried about her, not because he was obligated to as some distant friend, and yet she dismissed him as such _again_ despite everything. She made it look like the past few months had never happened, that they had never gotten past polite greetings and the occasional small talk in the library, and he wants more than anything to tell her exactly how cruel and unfair she was being towards him but he couldn't. He wasn't angry enough, or angry at all, especially towards her. He was only hurt.

He kept his eyes on her hands as he spoke. "You make promise in the library once. You remember? You said you will always tell me the truth, no matter what."

She hesitated. "Y-yes, of course. I remember. It was after you thought you were annoying me."

"Am I annoying you now?"

She was taken aback by the question and it showed. "Viktor, how could you say that?"

"Please remember your promise, Herm-own-ninny. Is very important to me."

Her eyes welled with tears. She blinked them away when she thought he wasn't watching. "You weren't annoying me then and you're not annoying me now." She looked like she wanted to say more but then changed her mind.

"Why did you say yes when I asked you to the Yule Ball?"

She was quickly on the defence. "Is this about Rita Skeeter's article?"

"Why would I believe a woman stupid enough to spell my name as _Vector Crom_?" he scoffed. She didn't look very convinced. "You ask me why I ask you. Remember, at the ball, after talking to Weasley?" She averted her eyes in shame. He couldn't understand why, but then assumed that it had to do with her snapping at him later when he found her in the courtyard. He sighed, then gently took her hands in his. "I am not upset with you, Herm-own-ninny. I don't want you to be sad. I don't want to hurt you when Potter's fans are also hurting you, but it is important that I know this, just like for you it was important to know."

She studied him for a long time, gnawing on her bottom lip either in thought or with nervousness. He didn't press her for an answer, even though his insides were churning with anticipation and dread. Finally she closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath.

"Alright," she said, her eyes now open and looking straight at his with a steely kind of determination. "But please understand that my feelings since you asked me have changed… considerably." He nodded for her to continue. "I said yes to your invitation simply because you asked."

He definitely wasn't anticipating that. Something harsh and cruel perhaps, but definitely not this. He didn't even know what to make of it or how to feel about it.

"You were always so kind to me," she continued, her expression softening, "you always encouraged me to continue doing things people often tease me for. I've never had a friend that actually looked up to me for being smart rather than look for me when some assignment is overdue. It honestly didn't occur to me that you were trying to ask me to the ball, but when you did I just couldn't say no. You were so sincere and endearing with your invitation that I would've been absolutely mad to refuse you."

He hesitated. "And now?"

"What do you mean?"

"You said your feelings changed. How do you feel about me now?"

"O-oh," she breathed, nervous once again. She bowed her head. "I was hoping you wouldn't ask."

He released her hands, turning away from her to hide whatever expression his face was taking. If it was anything like the pain he was feeling he'd rather she doesn't see. "So I embarrass you."

"I didn't say that!" she said quickly. "I just… I'm confused, Viktor."

He turned to look incredulously back at her. He's certain that he expressed himself _very_ clearly after rescuing her from the lake.

"W-well, it's not everyday a boy tells you you're special!" she sputtered, turning pink, lifting her bandaged hands in exasperation. "A celebrity, no less!"

"Not my fault you are surrounded by idiots, Herm-own-ninny," he said. "And so what if I am famous? I am still a man. I am still Viktor."

"I know, it's just–" she sighed, steadying herself. "I'm just very confused right now."

"About what?"

She hesitated. "Viktor, did you really mean the things you said at the lake or was that just the adrenaline talking? It's alright if it is!" she quickly added when he opened his mouth to confirm. "I'd understand, and I promise you that nothing will change between us if it is because such mistakes _do_ happen. And I know you of all people mean well and would never intentionally mislead anyone like that."

He felt like he had just been granted a chance to save himself. He was suddenly very tempted to take it, however much his pride scoffed at the cowardly decision. If he lies to her now and tells her that he said those things without really meaning to, that he had been so scared and worried that he started talking without really thinking about what he was saying, then things between them would surely go back to the way they were before his confession. There would be no more tensions and hard feelings, and he'd get another chance to get close to her again.

Except it was hard to take a step that far back when he already had her in his arms once. His own feelings towards her had grown considerably since. He didn't want to go back to tiptoeing around her, not when she had already made him believe that they were on the same page.

"Everything I said that day was true. I meant it all, from here." He pointed at his heart when he said that, giving her a small smile. "I promise. I have never felt this way about–"

"Stop!" she quickly cut him off, her eyes panicked and darting around the room. "Please don't say that again, Viktor, not out loud."

He frowned. "Why not?"

"I- I can't tell you. Only because I don't have all the facts!" she said, quick to reassure him when he looked uncertain. "But I will as soon as I do."

He was even more confused with her answer. "Facts about what? I told you I was being honest, Herm-own-ninny. No need to investigate."

"Yes, of course, and I believe you!"

"Also you still did not answer my question," he said, folding his arms over his chest.

Her shoulders slumped in defeat. She was looking imploringly up at him with her wide, brown eyes and he was already feeling his resolve breaking. "Viktor, please, I… I need time."

 _More time to use me and to make Potter seethe some more with jealousy at the sight of you hanging off the arm of an older professional Quidditch player?_

He silenced the sudden, aggressive thought, even though a part of him welcomed it. What else did she need time for? His question was simple enough. It required an even simpler answer, and that is whether she sees him as a friend or more. He wasn't asking her to confess her undying love for him. He just wanted her to tell him that she wasn't using him like all the other girls from his past, because it would destroy him if it turns out that there's some truth in Rita Skeeter's article.

He didn't get to voice those thoughts. Markus had come for him.

" _Karkaroff is looking for you,"_ he said, staring at Viktor with cautioning eyes whilst completely ignoring Hermione. " _He said to meet him in his office on deck."_

Viktor stifled a groan. He knew it was coming eventually, but he wasn't nearly finished talking to Hermione and who knew what measures Karkaroff would take to prevent that from happening again in the future.

 _"_ _Fine. I'll be there shortly."_

He turned back to apologise to Hermione, expecting Markus to leave now that he's delivered his message, but the minute he opened his mouth a large hand clamped over his shoulder and squeezed hard. Hermione paled at the sight and it took all of Viktor's might to not visibly wince from the pain.

" _Now, Krum,"_ said Markus between gritted teeth.

For a moment Viktor contemplated grabbing his wand and singeing that hand off his shoulder, but instead he counted to ten in his head then ripped his shoulder free. He got up from the bed.

"I am sorry, Herm-own-ninny," he said, taking one of her bandaged hands in his and bowing to kiss it on instinct only to stop halfway when he remembered her injuries. "Karkaroff wants to see me. I have to go."

"Come see me later at the library?" she asked hopefully. "Madam Pince is letting me stay past curfew tonight to start planning a study schedule for final exams. I was thinking that we could continue from where we left off."

An empty, quiet library all to themselves. He was once again reminded of the day they spent on the ship's library. He promised her he'd be there without a second thought.

* * *

Markus had continued following him. Viktor had not only expected it, but also anticipated it. What made things even better was that the larger boy was lingering a few steps behind him and being uncharacteristically quiet. He didn't even care to voice his opinion on Viktor taking the long route.

Viktor discreetly took his wand out when they were far enough from any potential witnesses. He turned towards his unsuspecting victim. " _Silencio."_

Markus was red with rage. He was shouting what Viktor only assumed to be insults and threats, or rather he was attempting to shout as no sound came out of his mouth. Viktor was mildly surprised to see Markus reach for his wand, as he's well known amongst their peers for always putting value and trust in his own fists.

Strong as Markus could be, Viktor surpassed him with speed. He thought of all the things that have gone wrong so far. He thought of all the hurt and all the anger he's been bottling up not just since losing the second task but also from years past. He thought of all the fake smiles, hallow promises, cold touches, distant cheers, and deceitful kisses. He thought of everything but Hermione.

He pointed his wand at Markus. " _Crucio!"_

Markus crumbled to the ground, thrashing his muscular legs as his clawed hands dug into his skull. His mouth was open in a silent, anguished scream. His eyes were screwed tightly shut. Viktor had never seen him in this state before, and he never thought he'd be the one to put him there, but what he's done back at the hospital wing had awoken a dangerous side he didn't know existed. His especially cold, harsh demeanour towards Hermione whom he still clearly blamed for Viktor's loss made something inside the champion snap.

He lifted the curse, but only because he didn't want to risk pushing Markus to a state he wouldn't return from. He simply wasn't worth risking a trip to Azkaban.

Markus was unable to stand on his feet. He was lying on the ground, twitching still and breathing hard and staring wide-eyed at his attacker. Viktor flicked his wand and Markus was instantly lifted off the ground and on his knees. Viktor jabbed the tip of his wand against Markus's thick throat, looking down at him as he would something foul stuck under his shoe. He saw Markus's Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed in fear.

Viktor sneered at the sight. He leaned forward until his face was mere inches from Markus's. " _If you ever touch me again I will send you back to your mother in pieces. Understood?"_

Markus opened his mouth to say something but then seemed to remember that he was still without a voice. He clamped his mouth shut and nodded instead. Viktor stared at him for a moment then swiftly lifted the curse and stalked towards the other end of the hall, leaving Markus collapsed and heaving on the floor.

* * *

A/N: It just occurred to me that I haven't shown this teeny tiny dark side of Viktor born and nurtured from the many years he's spent in Durmstrang under Karkaroff's watch. That doesn't make him a dark wizard, of course, nor does it imply that he's taken a liking to dark magic and/or torture. It's just a product of the environment, or at least that's how I see it. Students in Durmstrang aren't encouraged to talk, but to bully and intimidate, and while Viktor isn't necessarily a bully he's smart enough to know that he'd only get his point across to his peers through violent means. I mean it's either that or get used to being pushed around and I honestly can't see Viktor taking that once he's over the initial shock.

Apologies for the delay in updates and this rather uneventful chapter! Hope the last improvised scene didn't put anyone off Viktor/Hermione :D


	14. Chapter 14

Igor Karkaroff was afraid.

Throughout his time at Durmstrang Viktor had seen nothing but unrelenting cruelty. He knows of his headmaster's cowardice for sure, his entire country does, for only cowards turn on their allies when cornered. The Dementors had barely touched Karkaroff when he started singing his friends' names like a canary, but by the time Viktor came of age Karkaroff had already locked that bird in a cage and stored it somewhere far and safe and displayed only the powerful, oppressive man that struck fear into the hearts of students and staff members alike.

Right now Viktor is having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that he's staring at the same frightening man huddled by the fire drowning in robes that used to be a perfect fit. His eyes, once dark and full of cold malice, have become sunken weary orbs darting in panic at the slightest creak.

Ivanna paused in her task of clearing empty Firewhisky bottles littered around Karkaroff's desk to stare at Viktor with urgent eyes. He was instantly reminded of the second task and of her words before and after. He swiftly turned away from her.

 _"_ _You called for me, Headmaster?"_ he said to Karkaroff, making him jump to his feet and then curse at the sight of Viktor standing by the door.

 _"_ _Close the door, damn it!"_ he barked, rushing to his desk and shooing Ivanna out of the way. " _I'm trying to keep this place warm and this fucking weather–"_ He then looked at her as if he just realized that she's been standing there this entire time and for some reason that seemed to frighten him. _"What are you still doing here? I told you vanish this mess and leave hours ago! Never mind I'll do it myself, just get out of here you stupid girl!"_

Ivanna obliged, giving Karkaroff a quick bow before doing so. She stopped next to Viktor. Her hand ghosted over his forearm in an attempt to get his attention. He yanked his arm free before she could grasp it and walked inside. He had just finished dealing with Markus and now he's got Karkaroff on his trail. He wasn't in the mood for whatever it is Ivanna forgot to tell him while he was still recovering from Markus's attack, or worse yet, interrogate him for missing breakfast and lunch the day after the second task and his humiliating defeat.

He wasn't as satisfied as he thought he'd be when he heard her frustrated huff followed by the door slamming shut behind her. Karkaroff was searching frantically in his drawers, all the while grumbling under his breath about Severus Snape and Scottish weather and women. He finally managed to locate the subject of his search. It was a vial of clear potion.

 _"_ _Drink up,"_ he said, tossing the vial at Viktor.

Viktor caught it and turned it over in his hand. His family's crest was engraved at the front. He unscrewed the cap and sniffed. The anger he thought he already quelled by talking to Hermione and then later lashing out at Markus had erupted once again within him. He recognised the potion. He was required to take it several times in his career as a precautionary measure.

 _"_ _I will not,"_ he said, his voice harsh and his indifferent mask cracking to reveal a glimpse of the inferno within. _"I refuse to drink a single drop. What do you take me for? Really, an antidote for Amortentia! You think I haven't had enough experience with women trying to slip it into my drink to know when I'm being set up?"_

Surprisingly enough Karkaroff wasn't as riled by Viktor's insolence as he should've been. If anything he appeared highly amused by the sight and it did nothing but add more fuel to Viktor's rage. He threw the vial against the wall and watched it shatter into many tiny pieces that scattered across the room.

 _"_ _Oh yes, your father said you'd do that,"_ muttered Karkaroff. He took out his wand and cleaned the mess in an instant. He then retrieved the spare vial from the same drawer and tossed it at Viktor.

Viktor caught the second vial on reflex, feeling his anger subside somewhat. _"My… father sent this?"_

 _"_ _With very explicit instructions that I haven't bothered to read properly, yes,"_ he said, shocking Viktor with his sudden honesty and nonchalance towards the man he's been grovelling to for years. _"Don't worry, I think I got all the important parts. He basically wants you to drink every drop of this antidote and he wants me to watch you do it and then confirm it to him in writing."_

His shoulders slumped. He looked down at the small vial in his hand. How could his father believe such drivel, a man who always prides himself on his intellect and logical thinking? Or does he simply have so little faith in his own son that he felt the need to send him not one, but two vials of Amortentia antidote?

 _"_ _I don't understand,"_ he murmured, more to himself than to Karkaroff.

Karkaroff scoffed. _"And you expect everyone to believe that you're not under the influence of a Love Potion. What's not to understand, Viktor? If you've truly been given Love Potion this will cure it. If not, you get a free drink out of this mess. This is my take on it so unless if you want to hear the more detailed and lengthy version from your father, drink up."_

Viktor contemplated breaking the second vial but he knew that wouldn't bode well for him, especially when his father had already predicted that he'd break the first. He downed the entire vial in one go. It didn't have the unpleasant aftertaste most portions do, but as he predicted it didn't affect him in any way. He couldn't help but feel disappointed despite all his attempts at silencing anyone that dared voice sentiments on the authenticity of Skeeter's article.

 _"_ _Good boy,"_ said Karkaroff in mock praise before sitting down on his armchair and retrieving a sheet of parchment paper and some ink and quill. _"You may leave if you wish. Personally I'd rather you do. I've got many other issues to take care of besides your father's endless requests."_

 _"_ _That's all you wanted from me?"_

 _"_ _Correction: that's all your father wanted from you. I'm just the messenger."_

 _"_ _I see,"_ he said, turning his back on Karkaroff.

Viktor hesitated by the doorway. Normally he'd grasp a quick dismissal in a heartbeat but this time he felt compelled to linger. There was something very wrong with Karkaroff and it was making him anxious, jittery, reckless, and utterly careless. It was making him everything he wasn't, or everything Viktor knew Karkaroff wouldn't want to be. Viktor doesn't care for his headmaster's woes, mostly because he hates the man, but whatever was plaguing Karkaroff was something Viktor couldn't ignore. He couldn't put his finger on it but his gut feeling was telling him it was dangerous and that he ought to exercise caution.

Karkaroff sighed deeply when he saw that Viktor was still standing. He slowly placed his quill down and folded his hands over the desk, looking up at Viktor with perhaps the fakest smile he's ever produced to date. " _I suppose there's something_ I _can do for_ you? _"_

Viktor swallowed nervously. For the first time in his life he felt despised and unwanted in his headmaster's presence. Was this how Poliakoff felt every time he and Karkaroff crossed paths?

He felt stupid for asking, but he was too curious to stop himself. _"Do you believe the article?"_ Karkaroff's smile dropped. Viktor quickly added: _"I just heard that you and Headmaster Dumbledore had a dispute over the issue."_

 _"_ _I may have accused him of foul play,"_ he said at length. _"And what's it to you if we did? What happens between two headmasters is none of their students' concern."_

Once again he was taken aback by Karkaroff's snappy attitude. He bowed his head. _"Forgive me. I meant no disrespect. I simply did not wish to cause any trouble between long-time friends."_

 _"_ _Friends!"_ he repeated with a humorless chuckle. _"You must truly know nothing of the world if you thought that Albus and I are friends, and that's saying something considering how far you've travelled since you started playing Quidditch professionally. I'd say that I'm severely disappointed, but really there's no point as we've come too far since."_

He frowned. _"The tournament is not over yet. I know I failed you in the second task, but I scored many points in the first and if I work harder to pull through the last the Cup is as good as ours."_

 _"_ _Your confidence is admirable, but I'm afraid it won't cut it this time,"_ he said, turning back to the letter. _"You have lost favour with everyone, myself and your own peers included. Two champions are already ahead of you and I assure you that the third task won't be as easy to navigate through as the first two. In fact, it's usually the one that kills competitors. Your chances of winning are very slim, so I'd focus on survival if I were you and hope for the best."_

 _"_ _Forgive me, Headmaster, but you don't seem to care."_

 _"_ _That is the smartest thing you've said all day,"_ said Karkaroff, setting his quill down once again to look at Viktor with wild laughing eyes. _"You're right, unfortunately. I don't care about this bloody tournament or whether or not Durmstrang wins the Triwizard Cup. Most importantly, Viktor, I don't care about_ you _anymore. I have done my best to guide you through the first two tasks. I put you above all my other students because I saw greatness in you I have never seen in anyone else throughout my time as Headmaster in Durmstrang. I pushed you to succeed and even covered for you against my better judgment."_ He smiled cruelly at that and Viktor averted his eyes. _"You know as well as I do that Ivanna Morozova is Durmstrang's finest. She's truly earned the title, but I took it from her and bestowed it upon you at the risk of my own career simply because I believed in you, Viktor, perhaps even more than your own father did."_

 _"_ _I didn't ask for this,"_ he said between his teeth, still not meeting Karkaroff's eyes.

 _"_ _But you wanted it."_ He laughed when Viktor answered him with a guilt-ridden silence. _"Come now, there's no shame in taking the things you want when you have the means to do it! So what if you didn't earn it? You were a favourite of mine so I simply gave it to you. You could've said something, of course, but even if you did I wouldn't have changed my mind."_

He forced himself to look at his headmaster, trying his best not to show just how much his words were affecting him. _"So what changed? If you had faith in me then, why can't you have faith in me now? I've achieved so much since. I've become a stronger wizard."_

 _"_ _And can this strong wizard finally summon a Patronus?"_

 _"_ _I… haven't tried again since."_

He shrugged. _"Ah, well, it doesn't matter I suppose. Thought it was worth asking anyway."_

 _"_ _Forgive me, Headmaster, but you haven't answered my question."_

Karkaroff gave another tired sigh. He leaned back into his chair and massaged his temples with his long, boney fingers. _"You're proving to be just as much of a headache as your father,"_ he muttered, allowing his hands to drop limply to the sides. Viktor couldn't help but think that if Karkaroff sat perfectly still he'd look like a very convincing, very emaciated corpse. _"I already answered that question. I'm too disappointed to care anymore, and quite frankly I now have more urgent matters to take care of and I'd rather not forsake them for a boy that refuses to cooperate. You see, Viktor, it turns out that you're just like every other foolish young man to grace the halls of Durmstrang. I thought you were above them all, I thought you were_ different, _but I was sorely mistaken. You lost sight of what's important the minute a girl smiled you. You allowed a pretty face to sweep away your goals, passion, and your drive to succeed at all costs. You let her crawl under your skin and get into your head when you needed to stay focused most and it's definitely not a coincidence that she appears in your life_ now _of all times. As smart as you are you have still chosen to turn a blind eye to her scheming and to my warnings."_

Viktor balled his hands into fists. _"Hermione is–"_

 _"_ _Different? Special? Not like other girls?"_ He threw his head back and laughed. _"Viktor, did you think I spent most of my life in a cave? Did it never occur to you that I've had other favourite pupils, other disappointments in my life that have uttered the exact same nonsense?"_ Viktor opened his mouth to retaliate but Karkaroff silenced him with a gesture. _"Spare me. Chances are I've already heard it. You're a grown man, Mr. Krum. You've clearly made your choice, and as a man I have made mine. You insist on following a girl that is obviously using you to get to another and I refuse to coach a losing champion. I am washing my hands from this tournament and will only do what is required of me as the school's headmaster, nothing more or less."_

 _"_ _But sir–!"_

 _"_ _You are dismissed, Viktor,"_ he said with finality, turning back to his letter and dipping his quill in ink to signify the end of their meeting.

* * *

The cords wrapped tightly around his chest. His heartbeat increased in the struggle to free itself of its cage. His head was spinning. He gripped the rails for support and nearly fell over the edge. The dark surface of the lake many feet below did nothing to soothe him. If anything the utter stillness of the lake made everything seem all the more unnatural and chaotic. He wished for rain to disrupt the surface and to cleanse him of this evil that took root deep within his core.

 _"_ _Viktor, there you are!"_

 _Ivanna._

His fingers dug into the ancient wood of the rails. _"Go away."_ He growled.

He had spoken too low for her to hear. _"Where have you been?"_ she demanded, her voice right next to him. _"Never mind that, there's something I've got to tell you."_

He closed his eyes. _"I don't want to hear it."_

 _"_ _Like hell you don't! It's about Karkaroff."_

He felt sick at the mere mention of the name. He forced it down. He'd die a thousand deaths before letting Ivanna even suspect that he's losing control of himself. _"I don't care about Karkaroff."_

 _"_ _You mean to tell me that someone out there actually does?"_ she snorted.

 _"_ _Ivanna…"_

 _"_ _Someone's coming for him, Viktor, and if it's who I think it is then he's got every damn right to be afraid and so do we."_

He put his hand to his forehead. He wished she'd just tell him what it is. His brain was in a muddled enough as it is.

 _"_ _Are you even listening to me?"_ she said, offended. " _Do you perhaps recall the kind of people Karkaroff was previously associated with, the very same that murdered my father and took after the one that murdered your grandfather?"_

 _"_ _Ivanna, please stop talking."_

 _"_ _I will not!"_ she slammed her fist against the railing. _"What's gotten into you? Don't you understand what I'm trying to say? Harry Potter might be in grave danger, and by default that puts you and Diggory and Delacour in the same line of fire."_ She paused. _"I really hope I'm wrong and that it's just Karkaroff having one of his episodes again, but if I'm not then your girlfriend will also be in danger by mere association."_

He suddenly laughed at that. He doesn't know why he found it hilarious, but he couldn't help but laugh so hard that he had to remove one hand from the railing to grip his aching side.

Ivanna stared at him, perplexed. _"Have you lost your mind?"_

He turned towards her and whatever expression she saw on his face was so terrifying that it made her visibly flinch. _"If you care so much about Harry Potter's safety then why don't you go fucking tell him about your little hunch?"_

 _"_ _Did you not catch the part about your girlfriend getting caught in the crossfire?"_

 _"_ _Did you not catch the part about me not giving a shit about Potter and his problems with dark wizards long dead? Tell him yourself if you care so much. Let him be her champion. It's what she wants. It's what she's always wanted."_

He turned to leave but she grabbed his arm and spun him around to face her again. _"Of all the times to be petty this isn't it, Viktor. I don't know what Karkaroff said to put you in that state, but you need to pull yourself together and_ listen _to me."_

 _"_ _And why should I listen to you?"_ he barked, roughly removing her hand from his arm. _"When did you ever care about anything besides upstaging me at every turn?"_

 _"_ _This is a matter of life and death, you idiot! We can talk about long-time rivalries later, if you could just–"_

 _"_ _No."_ He shook his head, backing away from her, probably looking as mad as he felt if one were to judge by the expression on her face. _"No more. I'm finished, Ivanna."_

* * *

There's a very simple answer to all of Viktor's problems and he knows exactly what it is. Hermione makes him immensely happy, perhaps the happiest he's ever felt, but the affection he holds for her also weakens him. If he were to survive the next few months and perhaps even win the final task and the tournament he will have to distance himself from her. He must revert back to the competitive young man that disembarked on All Hallows' Eve with a clear goal in mind. He had, after all, put his name in the Goblet of Fire to win.

It didn't occur to him just how weak he'd become until he saw her again. She had recovered enough to make it in time for supper and she was already seated in her usual spot between her friends by the time Viktor arrived at the entrance of the Great Hall. Her hands were still bandaged but she didn't appear to be in any kind of pain. She was talking and laughing with her friends as if she hadn't been attacked by obsessive fangirls just this morning. He watched her from the shadows of the halls outside, thinking of nothing but how utterly breathtaking she looked under the candlelight and how he'd do _anything_ to make her happy.

With a heavy heart and a troubled mind he abandoned the feast. He had lost his appetite even though he hadn't had anything to eat all day. He felt infinitely older and wearier. He walked for what felt like hours with no destination in mind, just the will to get as far away as possible from all the laughter and conversation. He walked until his feet ached and only stopped when a particularly loud hiss pulled him out of his dark thoughts.

The yellow lamp-like eyes of Mrs. Norris were hard to forget, for Viktor had never truly seen a cat this ugly and vindictive. She was held back by what Viktor only assumed to be her renowned owner, Argus Filch, who looked up at him suspiciously as his cat hissed and swiped at him with her sharp claws. Every single hair on her small body was standing on its end, and if murder had a look it'd be the one she's giving him right now. It appears that she hadn't forgotten about their last encounter.

"Now, now, my sweet," crooned the old man, stroking her gently with his long spidery fingers. "We mustn't be rude to guests." Again he looked at Viktor with his pale bulging eyes. "Especially the champions."

Viktor stared back, feeling apprehensive and uncertain of what to say.

Filch wasn't pleased with his silence. "Curfew's at ten. You best be off to that ship of yours by then. Champions don't get special treatment for getting selected, you know."

Mrs. Norris hissed furiously, as if adding her own line of threat.

Viktor nodded. "I understand. I will go now."

He stopped halfway through and hurried back. He suddenly remembered Eliza saying something about Filch taking a liking and possibly knowing his grandfather. If there's ever a time to investigate such claims it's now when the man in question has apparently got enough free time to relax on a stool with his cat in the middle of a deserted corridor.

"I'm sorry, but can I ask you something?" he said, nearly breathless from anticipation and from the running.

Filch frowned, irritated and slightly confused. "You're a polite one."

"Please," he pressed. "I will be fast."

He looked weary and mistrustful and as bitter as the rumours claimed, but he nodded anyway.

"Do you know Illiya Krum?" he asked hopefully, then quickly added: "Professor Illiya Krum. He was teaching here in–" he stopped. He suddenly realised that he doesn't actually know when his grandfather supposedly taught in this school, only that he did for a year sometime before his death. "He was teaching Transfiguration. Do you know him?"

"No," said Filch, as if it was the stupidest question he's ever had to answer to. "He was already buried and rotting by the time I was born. I knew his portrait before the Headmaster moved him."

Viktor swallowed all the curses and insults dangling at the tip of his tongue. He desperately needed information, information his father apparently felt unnecessary to share, and there's no telling when he'll actually manage to catch his grandfather's portrait. He'll defend his honour some other time.

"Can you tell me about him?" he asked.

"Yea, and why should I?" demanded Filch.

"Please. It's important to me." He hesitated. "He was my grandfather."

"Was he now?" Filch asked sarcastically. "Shouldn't you know more about him yourself, then?"

He bit back a groan. He should've known that the man would be more difficult to get through judging by the way the portraits spoke of him, but Viktor wasn't nearly close to surrendering just yet. "I don't know about his time at Hogwarts," he lied. "There are no records. Please tell me."

Filch looked like he wasn't bothered to entertain some schoolboy about a hero long dead. If anything he looked rather annoyed with Viktor and was only holding himself back because he happened to be a guest. Viktor was about to give up and leave when a smile suddenly graced the man's pasty, veiny face, a cruel yet jovial smile that sent a chill down Viktor's spine.

"Professor Krum was a decent wizard," he said, scratching Mrs. Norris's chin thoughtfully. She closed her eyes and purred contentedly. "Smart man, he was, and good with children."

Viktor frowned. That's not what Eliza said.

"Knew how to set those brats straight, how make them behave right," he continued, his eyes bright with glee. "He struck fear in them, _real_ fear, and it's what they need I tell you! The only professor that believed in some kind of corporal punishment."

"Corporal punishment?" Viktor repeated, dreading the answer.

"Oh yes, he knew how to run things right, that Professor Krum! Not a single boy or girl misbehaved while he was around. He had this stick, you see, like the ones used to whip horses. Thin as a needle it was and about twice the length of a wand. Didn't look very threatening at first, but oh he knew how to use it and he used it well." Filch laughed throatily. "Professor Krum didn't believe in the house points system. Told me himself. He thought the whole thing was a waste of time! Nasty little children need to fear authority to respect it, and removing house points doesn't hurt them enough. Do you know what he did instead?"

Viktor shook his head. He wanted to say that he didn't want to hear anymore, that he's had enough of this nightmare already and would rather get his information elsewhere because surely the hero who's deeds have been sung by every old and young academic and historian in his country wasn't as cruel as Filch was making him out to be. He had idolised this man his entire life, his blood that he's never met, and he absolutely refused to believe a word of this drivel.

But Filch was on a roll. He was too excited to hold back or even care enough about Viktor's discomfort to spare him the details. "He didn't award or take points. Every time a student misbehaved or broke a rule, he'd take out that stick of his and flog their sticky little palms until they turn red. The older students sometimes got lashes on their knees if they made him especially angry. He once gave a sixth year twenty lashes to the back for raising his voice. The boy couldn't sleep on his back for a week!" he sighed almost dreamily. "What a time it must've been to work in this castle! Sadly he eventually got sacked for it. Current Headmaster's influence, some say."

Viktor somehow managed to pry himself loose of that conversation, for Filch looked like he wanted to tell him more and as much as Viktor wanted to know it felt impossible to stomach any more of it. This new information painted a horrible, terrifying image of his deceased grandfather and he didn't know what to make of it. He had nothing to use in his defence for his father never spoke of his grandfather, not even when Viktor plainly asked and insisted, so for all he knew Filch could be right. There was only way to find out.

Later that evening when the entire castle went to sleep he snuck in and went straight for Eliza's portrait. She happily indulged his request and followed him into the prison tower's roof where the empty portrait hung. There was nothing different or unusual to indicate recent activity. Even the book propped open was the same and Viktor wouldn't be surprised if it's still open at the exact same page. _The Downfall of Herpo the Foul._

"Oh, this isn't right," said Eliza, stopping in her search to look anxiously over the edge of the frame. "I'm sorry dear, I just don't feel very comfortable looking through Professor Krum's personal belongings. He wouldn't like that at all."

He stopped pacing to look imploringly up at her. "I am sorry to make you do this, but please help me find it. It is very important to me." He paused, feeling the anguish from the revelation dawning upon him again. "I… I heard bad things. I have to know if they are true."

Eliza bit her lip, looking very much conflicted. Her softer, more maternal side finally won. "Oh alright then, I'll help you find it. But don't think I won't tell Professor Krum about this!"

"Thank you!" he breathed, trying to give her his best appreciative smile. "I am in your debt."

She gave it a dismissive wave. "Nonsense. What am I going to do with your debt? I'm dead."

He laughed at that. Again it sounded hallow, but unlike with Ivanna this time he found the humour tasteful and very much needed. He couldn't explain why, but he believes that it's to do with Eliza's presence and overwhelming kindness. He wondered briefly about her life and the achievements that earned her a portrait in the castle.

"Aha!" she sang triumphantly from somewhere under the desk. Viktor braced himself.

There was no mistaking it. The stick Filch spoke so fondly of was clutched in her hand.


	15. Chapter 15

All it took was the sound of her voice. He was at the library at a time he knew she wouldn't. After a week of isolation he found himself yearning for its full towering shelves and the memories they held. He had even picked a table near the Divinations section. He was immersed in his own selected volume, but then she whispered his name and his heart skipped a beat and just like _that_ all the bitterness he's been harboring in his chest towards her evaporated. She left nothing but pain and longing in her wake.

He couldn't tell her to leave him alone as easily as he would Ivanna or even Karkaroff, but he also couldn't face her because it'd only take one look from those wide brown eyes of hers to make him putty in her hands.

He turned over the page he was reading. "You said you hate Divinations."

"I just don't think it's authentic," she said, more softly than defensively. "Ivanna said you'd be in the library. You weren't in our usual spot."

He didn't say anything to that.

"Al-alright then!" He saw her fidgeting from the corner of his eyes. "H-how are you feeling?"

"About what?"

"About… about whatever it was you had."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You _know_!" she insisted, her tone bordering on frustration. "You were ill, or at least that's what Ivanna said. It's why you've been missing meals this entire week. You caught something from the lake."

"I swim in the lake every day. There is nothing there that will make me sick."

"So Ivanna lied to me?"

"I don't know why. You should ask Poliakoff next time. He never lies, even if it gets him in trouble."

"I shouldn't have had to ask anyone!" she hissed, and then faltered when several Divinations students shushed her all at once. She glared at them before taking the chair facing his. "I was worried, Viktor. I thought it was something serious. I haven't heard from you and… and you didn't come see me that night."

Her voice wavered at the end. He couldn't help but look at her. She was glaring at him but her eyes only conveyed her hurt and betrayal. It was like a knife twisting in his heart and it was all it took to render him completely defenseless.

If only she knew the power she had over him.

He closed the book he was reading. "I know. I am sorry. I was not sick, but I could not come. I was busy."

She softened at that. "No, Viktor, it's alright. _I_ should be the one apologizing. I haven't exactly been on my best behavior lately."

"Herm-own-ninny, you didn't do anything wrong."

"I did plenty wrong! I snubbed you in front of everyone right after you saved me from the lake and I for one can't believe you're letting it go! You must've been utterly humiliated _._ I didn't even thank you for it, and what's worse you came back the next day to check on me and I just – " she stopped, blushing either at the memory of his confession or from embarrassment at what conspired at the infirmary. "The point is, I haven't really thanked you properly nor have I apologized for treating you the way I did, especially after everything you've done for me."

"I told you, Herm-own-ninny, you don't have to apologize for anything," he insisted. His hand itched to grab hers across the table.

"Nevertheless, I'd like to apologize for my behavior. I'd also like to clear any misunderstandings there may be between us."

He frowned. "Misunderstandings?"

"About the article–"

"I don't believe Skeeter!"

"Are you quite sure you don't?" she asked gently. "Viktor, I don't want there to be any hard feelings between us. I can tell that you've got something on your mind and I can see that it's bothering you. I'm not going to force you to tell me, but I'd like it very much if you're as open and honest with me as I am trying to be with you."

"Trying?" he said contemptuously. "I thought you always keep your promise, but maybe the promise you make for me was not very important to you."

She gaped at him, for once struggling to form a coherent sentence in her shock. He could see that his statement had stung her on a deeper level than he had anticipated and a part of him was beginning to regret the slip.

"So you do believe Skeeter after all," she said slowly, angry at the accusation but also hurt. Viktor could only guess the amount of times she's had to defend herself since the article's publication.

"Of course not. If you give me Love Potion I will know."

"And the part about me and Harry?"

He paused. "Herm-own-ninny, do you care about me?"

"Of course I do! I wouldn't be here if I didn't."

"Like Potter?"

She blushed and quickly dropped her gaze to the desk between them. "I– I wouldn't say _quite_ like Harry because he's really more like a brother to me, but I _do_ care about you."

He regarded her silently, unable to fathom why the answer combined with her stained cheeks failed to put his mind at ease. It's exactly what he wanted to hear from her. Why was there still so much doubt left?

"Ok," he finally said, reaching for his selected book and opening it to the page he was reading before Hermione interrupted him. There was nothing else to do. There was nothing more he could do to reassure himself.

Her brows knitted in confusion when her eyes caught the tittle. " _The Downfall of Herpo the Foul_?"

"Light reading."

"I see. Are you enjoying it?"

"It's ok."

He couldn't help but marvel at how the roles have been reversed. In all the times they were in the library together he had always been the one watching her read, and every time she caught him she'd squirm and fidget under his gaze. He'd try his best to be discreet but then she'd _really_ get into her element and he'd find himself unable to tear his eyes from her and to the book he's pretending to read. Right now Hermione was doing just that, but unlike Viktor she didn't look very content with her new role.

"What's your favorite color?" she blurted, startling him out of his revere.

He looked up at her slowly, one eyebrow raised. "Red."

She nodded, looking very much like a determined reporter in the way she rigidly sat before him with her hands folded on the table. All that was missing was a notepad, a quill, and perhaps a photographer. "You already told me about your pet turtle."

He nodded. "Odin is very old. Has been in my family for three generations."

"That's good, I didn't know that! Do you have any other pets?"

"No. My mother hates animals. If my father did not love Odin I think she would get rid of him."

"What kind of pet would you get if she didn't, or if you had your own place?"

"I can't have pets if I live alone. I am always travelling so there will be no one to take care of them, but if I could I think I would like a snake."

She shuddered. "I see that you were seated at the right table after all."

He smirked. "You are right. Girls are afraid of snakes. I will get a puppy instead."

She glared at him.

He laughed. "Herm-own-ninny, what are you doing?"

"I'm certainly not thinking of ways to entertain girls in private," she grumbled under her breath.

"I was joking! But if you come it's no problem, I will entertain you anytime you want."

"W-well that's not the point at hand!" she huffed, flushing crimson at the implication. "The other day at the infirmary it occurred to me that I don't really know you as well as I should, especially considering… considering what you told me at the lake."

Now it was his turn to blush. "I told you I will wait for your answer if you are not ready, Herm-own-ninny."

"And I appreciate it," she said, tentatively removing the book from his hands to replace it with hers. "But if I'm going to figure this out I'll need some help."

The gesture warmed his heart and gave him hope despite the doubt still clouding his mind. He coiled his long fingers around hers. "Ask anything you want. I will tell you everything."

She smiled. "Not here, silly. Later in the evening. I'll owl you the time and place. Can you navigate your way around the castle?"

He nodded. "Moving stairs are confusing, but I will be ok."

She hesitated and then tightened her hold on his fingers, her eyes looking up at his imploringly. "You will come this time, won't you? Or at least owl me in advance if something comes up?"

He was overcome with guilt. He hadn't meant to bail on their date, if anything he was looking forward to spending an entire evening alone with her. He couldn't tell her all that, or why he didn't show up or even try to come up with a decent excuse, so instead he lifted their hands and pressed his lips to her fingers. "I will come this time, no matter what. I promise."

* * *

Viktor was pleasantly surprised to find a letter and a small package on his desk. They were from his father's servant (and unofficial confidante) Sergei and his daughter Rosaria.

Sergei's letter wasn't what he expected. It soiled his slightly elevated mood from the very first line, for it referenced the Love Potion antidotes his father had sent and the angry letter Viktor had sent him afterwards, to which Stefan replied to with equal ire.

 _I understand that you're upset, young Master, but please try to see the situation from your father's perspective. You were not replying to any of his letters. What else was he supposed to do? You are the heir of a great name, Master Viktor! He had to take precautionary measures to ensure that the legacy lives through you and your children unblemished. If you could just talk to your father and –_

He couldn't read any more. He crumpled the letter into a ball and threw it over his shoulder. He should've known that Sergei would take his father's side in this just like he did in every other feud that ever took place between father and son, but as much as he wanted to Viktor couldn't really blame him. The man had been a friend to his father since boyhood, perhaps the only friend Stefan spoke fondly of, but a part of Viktor still hoped that the man would see reason when his own father couldn't.

He also wanted to ask Sergei about the late Illiya Krum. He's the only living person Viktor could think of that knew his grandfather while he was still alive. There was also Dumbledore, of course, whom Viktor had contemplated visiting for quite a long time, but asking him such questions would surely lead the wizard into questioning the means through which Viktor came across such relatively unknown information. His nightly wanderings in the castle would be exposed and he didn't even want to think about what consequences such violations entail.

He moved to Rosaria's package. It was rather small but very prettily packaged with all the frills and glitter and colorful ribbons. When Viktor opened it he found a few pieces of chocolate, no doubt made by her very own hands. He closed the box and removed the small note from the top.

 _Heard your father is giving you a hard time._

He snorted. It's certainly not a first.

 _I know it's not a first, but if it makes you feel any better your mother and I are very happy for you. Here are a few samples of a new recipe I'm working on for the coming Easter Holidays. They say diamonds are the way to a woman's heart, but take it from this woman: all you really need is chocolate and wine. I heard that she's still quite young for alcohol, but I wouldn't worry too much. Chocolate usually works fine on its own._

 _–_ _Rosa_

For the first time in days he smiled. Rosaria was never one for subtleties.

* * *

Their designated meeting spot was the Astronomy Tower. He had passed it many times in the past but was never able to get inside—not that he wanted to anyway. Astronomy was his worst subject and he hated every minute of it. If it weren't for Karkaroff constantly berating his professors he's certain he would've failed the subject years ago. The view was the only thing he enjoyed in that class. Things always look better than they actually are from the top, including a dark icy fortress such as Durmstrang.

She barged in ten minutes after he had already settled, flushed and panting from all the running she probably did to make it on time. He leaned against the rails and gave her a smug smile. "I beat you."

"I had class," she huffed, closing the door behind her and flinging her messenger bag to the side. "What did you do all day?"

"Train," he lied, turning back towards the sun dipping low behind the mountains in the distance. Most of the ice had already melted on the other end of the lake closest to the valley between the mountains. Winter comes and leaves early in this part of the world and Viktor was unused to it. "They will not tell us about the third task until May."

"I see," she said, coming to stand next to him.

They stood next to each other in silence, each either lost in thought or in the beauty of the melting landscape before them.

"Have you ever seen the Northern Lights, Herm-own-ninny?" he asked.

"No, unfortunately, but I'd love to someday," she said. He noticed her eyes flickering to the ship moored by the edge of the lake. "Would you be able to tell me if you have? From your school, I mean."

"Of course. I told you, you can't find Durmstrang unless if I tell you exactly where it is. And I did not see the Northern Lights."

She frowned. "Then why bring it up?"

"Because I have a funny story."

She looked at him, one eyebrow raised. "A funny story about the Northern Lights that you've never even seen?"

"To how you say, break this ice?" he said, grinning playfully. "You don't see Northern Lights in Durmstrang, sometimes not for many years. It's very rare and when it happens it's not staying for long, but they say it's the most beautiful thing you'll ever see in your life. And I believe that, because Durmstrang is always frozen. We have big lakes of thick hard ice and mountains all covered in snow." Her eyes widened in wonder. "Now imagine all that light, all those colors, passing over or even through those mountains and valleys and lakes? I dreamed of seeing that ever since I was a boy. I took extra Astronomy classes just to see it if it happens. I even stayed for Christmas and Easter every year since first year, but I never see Northern Lights."

He chuckled. "You know the papers they always say coach tried to force me to take a year off. Is not a lie, but I refused not because I wanted to finish school first. I was afraid I would miss the Northern Lights playing Quidditch."

"It's that important to you?" she asked, amused. "More than Quidditch?"

"This is rare. Quidditch will never go away," he confirmed. "Listen to this, is the funny part. The year I come here to compete for the Triwizard Tournament, the Northern Lights come to Durmstrang."

"You're joking."

"I wish I was. Karkaroff told us this morning. It happened not once, but _twice._ Two days in a row, each lasting hours. It was very rare and many institutions were sending letters to Karkaroff begging him to let their witches and wizards study it. He didn't let them, of course. He didn't even reply."

She didn't find the story as funny as he did. "Oh Viktor, I'm so sorry."

"I am not."

"But I thought you really wanted to see it?"

"I did, but I'm not sorry for coming here. I learned many things here." He hesitated then slid his hand over hers resting on the cold rails. "I would not know you if I stayed in Durmstrang and you are very important to me, Herm-own-ninny, more than both Quidditch and rainbow lights."

She slid her hand from underneath his and quickly masked her discomfort with an amused smile. "You know they're more than 'rainbow lights', don't you?"

He rolled his eyes. "Doesn't matter. I'm not sad I missed it. No one is. Everyone looks happy here, even Ivanna and Poliakoff."

"Well as much as I love this place I must confess that the grass is not always greener on this side." She sighed. "Every year something puts Harry in danger. He's one of the first and most genuine friends I've made and I'd do anything to keep him safe, but sometimes it can be scary and tiring and very stressful. Sometimes I wonder what it's like to go through the school year like all the others and worry about strict professors and homework and exams, not dark wizards and blood supremacy, but I suppose it doesn't really matter in the end. I'll always be happy as long as I've got Ron and Harry by my side, no matter the place or the situation, and I've got no doubt in mind that it's the same for you and your friends back in Durmstrang." She gave him an encouraging smile and nudged his arm with her shoulder. "Surely you've got a few silly happy memories that kept you sane all those years?"

He was quiet for such a long time that her smile faltered. "Ivanna, Poliakoff, and Markus are not my friends."

"They're not?" she asked, shocked. "But you're always sitting together at the Great Hall! And the other day in Hogsmeade, at the Three Broomsticks, Ivanna said you became friends after that duel."

He shook his head. "Ivanna and I are rivals."

"Rivals?" she repeated, frowning. "What do you mean by that, what are you competing for?"

"Everything." He sighed. "She is angry with me because she thinks I take everything from her, which is true. The Seeker position for the Bulgarian Quidditch team, being Durmstrang's top student, and now the Triwizard Tournament."

"But that's not fair, those are all things you've earned!"

"Being Durmstrang's champion for the Triwizard Tournament is the only I earned," he said. "Everything else? By mistake."

"Bollocks." His head snapped towards her, shocked to hear her of all people swear. She was staring at him challengingly with her arms folded over her chest. "You don't become the world's fastest Seeker by accident, Viktor. It might've been luck that got you there, but that still doesn't make you unworthy of the position." He opened his mouth to oppose that statement but she quickly cut him off. "Ginny told me. You were fourteen at the time, in Belarus with your father and his associates. Someone dared you to outfly the Belarusian Aurors, whom I should remind you are notoriously fast in the air, and you accepted the dare and they failed to catch you. The very fastest Aurors in the world failed to catch a fourteen-year-old on an old bewitched broom, Viktor! Not only that, but they had to inform the Russian authorities beforehand when you _crossed the border_ and made it all the way to St. Petersburg because they were afraid that even the Russian Aurors would fail if caught unawares."

"Herm-own-ninny, please stop."

She ignored the request, too passionate and adamant on proving her point. "And that's when the Bulgarian team's captain _and_ coach saw you. I mean sure they just happened to be there for the sights, but it doesn't change the fact that they saw potential. You broke the Statue of Secrecy in at least three different countries and the team's sponsors fought tooth and nail to have those charges dropped because they just wanted you that bad."

He snorted. "They didn't fight for anything. They paid them for their silence."

"It doesn't matter how you got out! Just stop putting yourself down for it. You've earned this, fair and square."

She was trying so hard to make him feel better and he was immensely touched by the effort. He wanted to just agree with her then and there and close the subject forever, but what she knows isn't the truth and she came here seeking the truth. She wants to know Viktor Krum the man, not the god from all the fluffy profile pieces.

He turned towards the mountains and leaned his elbows on the rails, the lump growing thick in his throat. He had never spoken to anyone about the incident that made him the face of every sports and tabloid magazine cover, and he never thought he had to. He stopped thinking about it because he thought that the only person that truly mattered is long dead, but then he met Hermione and his priorities changed.

"It was not a dare," he said slowly, almost quietly. "I was running away."

A sudden stillness settled over them.

"What were you running away from?" she asked softly.

"My family," he said. "I did not want to be my father's son. I hated Viktor Krum. I wanted to be someone else somewhere far away from home."

"W-well if it's of any consolation to you _I_ think that Viktor Krum is fantastic," she said, her face pink but determined still.

He chuckled. "That is nice, Herm-own-ninny, but you don't know the real Viktor Krum."

"You're right, I don't. It's why we're here, isn't it?" she paused, looking like she was having some kind of an internal mental debate. She then placed her hand on his wrist. She looked like she was nervous of his reaction and it baffled him. "I don't know you, Viktor, or at least not as well as I thought. I know that I care about you in a way that's different than the way I care about my other friends, but I don't know if it's what you're expecting from me."

He looked away. "I am expecting you to be happy without feeling that you have to lie to me. If you want to stop this, I will not be angry with you."

"And that's fair," she said, nodding in understanding, her grip now more relaxed over his wrist. "You know enough about me to determine that I'm the person you'll miss most and truly, Viktor, I'm _very_ flattered that you do, but we've only really known each other for a few months so I can't help but wonder. They managed to get Fleur's sister all the way from France for the day."

"I don't have any brothers or sisters," he said. He had an inkling where she was leading them and it was making him more uncomfortable than he'd ever let on, but he had already decided to go along with her plan the moment he accepted her invitation.

"What about a friend from home?" she pressed. "Or perhaps someone from your Quidditch team?"

He thought about it. "Levski is a good friend. He is only three years older than me, but we are not very close. Off-season we don't talk or see each other. There is also Rosa." He suddenly remembered the chocolates she sent him. He promptly took out the small box and offered its contents to Hermione. "She is the daughter of my father's servant, Sergei. She's very nice."

"And a wonderful cook," she Hermione, taking another piece from the box and plopping it into her mouth. She closed her eyes and moaned. "Oh, these are just wonderful! I dare say they rival Molly's."

"Molly…?"

"Ron's mum."

"Ah. Well, Rosa makes them every Easter. Sometimes she is busy with Muggle school, but she never fails to deliver boxes of chocolate to me, my mother, my father, and her own family."

"Rosa is a Muggle?"

"Wizard-born," he explained, then added to her confused expression: "here I think you call them Squibs. Sergei is also a Squib, but his wife and family are magical."

"Oh," she breathed, nibbling on her third piece more thoughtfully. "But isn't it rare for Squibs to be born in two consecutive generations?"

"Three," he corrected. "Sergei's mother was also Squib, but it's ok. He doesn't care, and Rosa too. I think she is happier with the Muggles."

Hermione appeared really intrigued with Rosa. Suddenly Viktor wished he had the means to make it possible for them to meet. "And what does she do?"

"She is studying to become a… Muggle children Healer?"

"Pediatrician."

He decided he'd try pronouncing that later. "She is always busy. She started four years ago, but even before that I don't see her very much. When she finish school in Switzerland I start in Durmstrang, and most of the summer I am playing Quidditch but she writes to me when she can and sends homemade chocolate on Easter."

He offered her the last piece. She eyed it greedily but politely shook her head. He smiled and pushed the box at her. She gave in with a sigh. He decided to write to Rosa and ask if it wouldn't trouble her too much to send him an extra box.

"Wait, so how come Sergei doesn't integrate with Muggle society?" She asked.

"Some Squibs like working in wizarding society, even when they don't have magic. Sergei, I think, he worries about my father. They have been friends for a long time."

She smiled. "Well I'm glad to know that at least in Bulgaria there's not as much stigma surrounding Squibs and Muggle-borns."

Grindelwald certainly made sure of it, he thought.

"So," he started, taking them back to the main topic at hand, "what else do you want to know about me?"

Her eyebrows knitted in concentration. She had been so distracted with the new information on the life of Bulgarian Squibs that he just _knows_ she'll use for her S.P.E.W. campaign that she's forgotten all about the real reason that brought them back together in the first place.

"Favorite season?" she asked, then grimaced. "Never mind, stupid question."

"Summer." He smiled. "Don't worry about questions sounding stupid. Ask anything you want."

Her face lit up. "When's your birthday?"

"July 20th."

"So you're a cancer?"

"I am. I hear they are moody."

"There are worse traits to find in people," she said, giggling. He hadn't realized how much he's missed that sound until he felt his face heat up in response. He pretended to admire the scenery while she thought of her next question. "Alright, so your father is a retired Healer-turned-Potions Master. What does your mother do?"

He took some time with his answer, mostly because he wasn't quite sure about it. "My mother used to be a dueler."

Her eyes widened. "A dueler?"

He nodded. "It's a sport like Quidditch, but not so popular. She was the fastest in the world but she quit when she became pregnant with me."

She smiled. "Well now we know where you get your speed from, and also your kindness. Am I right to assume that she quit to take care of you?"

His expression darkened. He knew his answer would kill the light, bubbly atmosphere they've created and he hated it more than the individual responsible. "She quit to drink."

And he was right. Hermione's smile fell from her face as fast as if he'd just told her that he died twice and came back. The silence that followed was awkward and tense, so thick and heavy that he was expecting it to suffocate them.

He gave his back to the scenery and leaned against the rails to steady himself. He has become so desperate for Hermione's affection that he was willing to share things he had forbidden himself to think of.

Finally he broke the heavy silence between them: "If you are trying to find someone else that should have been in the lake instead of you, Herm-own-ninny, I will tell you to stop now because there is no one."

She didn't try to deny it and for that he was grateful. She merely bit her lip and looked guiltily up at him.

"Everyone that is precious enough for me to miss is dead," he said.

She placed her hand on his arm and he stiffened. She appeared at a loss of how to respond to that and he understood to a certain extent.

"Svetlana, I think, could maybe replace you in the lake if she was still alive," he began, folding his arms over his chest slowly so as to prevent her hand from slipping. She inched closer instead. She looked like she wanted to embrace him, but then thought better of it. Somehow at that precise moment she seemed to understand his need for space and minimal contact. "She was my governess. She was supposed to leave when I start first year in Durmstrang, but she stayed because my mother was having problems and she did not want to take care of me. Sveta was not beautiful or kind. She was very old, she never smiled, and she punished me for every small mistake but she also taught me many things. She was the one to teach me how to read and write, and to put value on books and learning over silly things like toys. She was the one to teach me to fly. My father was against it because I was so small, but she insisted. My first broom? A gift from her." He paused. "I loved her very much. I never told her this.

"When I was fourteen my father sent her away. My mother caught me introducing her to important people as my mother and she was not very happy. I don't know why I did it. I think I was angry at my mother, or proud of Sveta, but when people asked about her I always introduced her as my mother."

"Poor Sveta," he continued once he felt calm enough. "She was so scared. I did not understand why. What did she think would happen when she is raising a small boy into a man, that he will not think she's his mother?"

Hermione was patiently waiting for him to gather his thoughts. She didn't look as disturbed or uncomfortable as he had expected her to be.

He shook his head. "I thought I would be punished, but no one said anything to me. I was sent to bed early, but when I woke up the next morning Sveta was back in Russia. My father sent her away in the evening. He did not allow me to write to her."

Hermione gasped, having finally put all the pieces together. "That's why you flew over the border! You wanted to go to her, didn't you? You wanted to find Sveta."

He smiled. "But she found me. Her nephew was the Russian Head Auror and he was an idiot asshole—"

"I'm sorry, but tell me again how many _international_ laws you broke that day?"

Of course she'd take the shouting bastard's side, he thought with a grumble.

"She came to take me," he continued. "My father was still in Belarus talking to the authorities, so she took me to a small cafe to wait. There she told me to go home and to tell my mother that I am sorry. This was after we talked to the captain of the Quidditch team, so I promised her that if my father gives me permission to play I will be the best player in the world and the first World Cup I win will be for her."

Hermione beamed. "And you kept that promise."

"I kept nothing."

"Oh come now, Viktor, there will be other World Cups and I'm sure you'll—"

"It's not the Cup." He sighed. "When I went home that day I did not tell my mother that I am sorry. She was already waiting for us and she was angry. She was drinking too much that day. She said things to me that made me angry, so I said to her that I hate her and that she is the worst mother in the world and that I wish father married Sveta instead."

He felt her hand giving his arm a firm yet comforting squeeze and it had an instant calming effect that silenced his tirade. His fingers that were digging into his biceps retracted. He released the breath he's been holding. Again it felt like she wanted to embrace him and he was tempted to accept the offer, but the still-doubtful part of him was convinced that it was more out of pity than anything.

"You were young and you were very upset," she said. "I'm sure that you hadn't meant to say those things."

"Herm-own-ninny, I meant everything I said that day." He waited a heartbeat for the hand on his arm to retract. He covered it with his own when it didn't, taking however small amount of comfort he could from the contact. "But I don't think I'm angry at her anymore, even when she burned my invitation to Sveta's funeral."

"How old were you then?"

"Sixteen. My father exposed my mother by accident, six months after Sveta died. He asked if I went to the funeral. My mother looked afraid and I knew it was her fault, but I didn't say anything." He paused. "I was still too young to play internationally but I was allowed to be an extra for the European League. We had some time off. I convinced coach to let me go to St. Petersburg alone for a few days. There I looked for the small café Sveta and I talked in, but I couldn't find it anywhere. I even asked the players from the Russian team and they didn't know what I was talking about. First I thought maybe it wasn't real, that maybe _she_ was never real, but then I realized that it's because of her I become the youngest professional Quidditch player." He snorted. "And now? Now I am making a fool of myself. She must be very proud."

"You know for someone who's loved by millions all around the world you've got a very low opinion of yourself," she said after a while. Something was off about her voice. He looked at her. She was looking towards the scenery again with her head angled in a way that allowed her thick hair to conceal her face. "Why wouldn't Sveta be proud of you? I am—would, I mean, if I had known you as long as she did!" she sniffed. She removed her hand from his arm to discreetly wipe her cheek. Viktor tilted his head to get a glimpse of her face, to which she gasped and stepped away from him. "The point is!" she said, her tone irritated but also shaky. "You should stop being so hard on yourself. You're good at what you do- amazing, even. Take pride in it."

"Are you crying?"

"N-no! Of course not! I'm just—I just really like the view! I have absolutely no reason to cry!"

She cursed and sought to quickly wipe away at what he assumed to be more tears that managed to escape. He grabbed her wrist and quickly spun her towards him. She had the face of a deer caught in the headlights and she had erased most of the evidence, but her flushed cheeks and the fact that making her look at him again caused her eyes to well with fresh tears gave away her secret. Without thinking he pulled her to his chest. She stiffened in his arms but didn't try to push him away.

"You cry over silly things," he murmured over her head.

"It's not silly! Oh, this isn't right." She leaned back to look up at him. He hesitated but then released his hold on her. " _I_ should be the one comforting you."

"Why? I'm not sad."

"Yes, but I made you uncomfortable. It's not supposed to be uncomfortable!"

He shrugged. He wasn't exactly eager to reopen old wounds but he knew the risk when he agreed to meet her and surprisingly enough he doesn't regret it as much as he thought he might. "I could have lied and said that I have a very normal, boring life not like ones from old Spanish dramas. You wanted to know something about me the world doesn't, and now you do." His expression turned serious again. "No one knows, only my parents and coach and old captain."

She nodded in understanding. "I won't tell anyone. I wasn't going to, anyway."

"Thank you." He grinned. "Want to know about the first time I got drunk?"

She groaned and covered her face with her hands. "Just tell me how many rules you broke in that story and be done with it!"

He chuckled. "No rules broken this time, I promise. Is a funny story, will take your mind off the sad one."

"Funny like your Northern Lights story?"

He scoffed. "Of course not. This is actually funny. It includes seventy-two cats, angry old man, some cabbages, and a Hungarian prostitute."

She glared up at him, her face beet red. "No. I'm fine not knowing, thank you very much."

It took him a while to figure out the cause of her sudden aggression and when he did his own cheeks flared. "I did not do anything with the prostitute, I swear!" he said quickly. She huffed and turned away from him, folding her arms over her chest and looking over the darkening sky with the same indignant expression on her face. "I paid her to help me carry the seventy-two cats. No one else was there, except more prostitutes but they wanted… other things." He said, desperately trying to get her to look at him again. "It was a hot day and the cabbages were beginning to smell very bad—ok you know what, I tell it from the beginning to make sense."

"Viktor…"

"Jasmine was nice but she was almost thirty and I was only seventeen. Also she was pinching my cheek like little boy the entire time. It was annoying. I was trying to make something important but I was too drunk and she was talking to me like I am little boy."

The corner of her mouth quirked. "Viktor, perhaps you should save this story for another time. I think I've learned enough for now."

He sputtered, feeling himself giving in to his panic. "Herm-own-ninny, I swear on my honor I never hired a prostitute any other time in my life!"

"I know you didn't," she said calmly, finally giving him a full reassuring smile. "I never got the impression that you would. Anyway, it's your turn."

He frowned. "My turn for what?"

"To ask me whatever question you want answered," she said, twining her fingers and leaning her elbows on the rails. The cool evening breeze blew her hair off her face when she tilted her head to look up at him. "It's only fair, don't you think? I've asked you loads of questions, some quite personal, and I've been rude to you once already. Please, ask to your heart's content."

The nature of her relationship with Harry Potter was the first question that sprung and nearly slipped from his tongue, but he quickly swallowed it back in fear of hurting her again. He knows that she's been teased and tormented enough about the whole affair and he'd rather not be one of the many faces partially or fully responsible for her distress. He wanted to be the exact opposite. He wanted to be the person she comes to when seeking comfort, because to him she is just that and so much more.

He cleared his throat, trying his hardest and failing to not sound stern. "You have boyfriend?"

Her smile turned cheeky. It made him nervous. "It's kind of hard to tell at this point."

"Why?"

She shrugged. "We're at a standstill, but I'm not too worried."

He's only assuming that she's talking about him and not Potter for the sake of whatever's left of his sanity.

"Women are too confusing," he grumbled.

She giggled. "Alright you grouch, give me another question."

"You have boyfriend before I come?"

"You're awfully invested in my love life," she teased, to which he responded with a scoff. "But no, I've never had a boyfriend. There was never a 'love life' to begin with. I was too focused on my studies and on Harry to consider such things."

 _Harry Potter again._ He shook his head. "How did you become friends with Harry Potter?"

Her face lit up with fondness. She laughed softly. "Oh goodness that's such a crazy, long story!"

He had letters to reply to, but he was too curious to leave. "I have time."

"Well Harry, Ron, and I go back all the way to first year," she began. "Harry was alright, but Ron and I got off on a really bad start and it just got worse over time. The idea that he would one day be one of my very best friends honestly never crossed my mind. I disliked him very much! He was insensitive, loud, messy, and awfully lazy. He was everything I _didn't_ want in a friend, but then things changed when a troll got in the school's dungeons…"

* * *

A/N: This chapter was meant to be posted shortly after the last as an apology for my lack of response to reviews/PMs but alas! The internet fails me again. Granted nothing much happened besides Viktor's backstory (that I've been itching to write pretty much since the beginning) but I do hope that this chapter makes up for it anyway.

Also here's some good news- we're nearing the end :D if all goes according to plan there should be no more than five chapters left. I'm excited because it will not only make this story the very first I posted on this site, but also the first completed multi-chaptered one! Of course I understand that there's way too much left to tell for it all to fit nicely in only five chapters, but I promise I'm not rushing anything! Just preparing a sequel as we speak. More details on that when the time comes :D for now I hope you enjoy the remaining last chapters that hopefully won't take as long as this to write.


	16. Chapter 16

**AN: Life hasn't been very kind to me lately. Had to deal with too many deaths, disappointments, and losses. I'm not going to bore you with details after such a long wait, but I will take the time to apologise for the delay and for not replying to any of the reviews or PMs because I've seen them all and they helped tremendously. I'm sorry I couldn't update sooner and I can't promise anything as I'm not quite out of the fire yet, but I assure you that this is not abandoned. I will complete this story no matter how long it takes as long as there's one person interested.**

 **I hope you're all faring well. Check out my profile for details on my other stories.**

* * *

"Viktor?"

"Hmm?"

"Dmitri kept calling you Durmstrang's finest. What exactly does it mean, and how did you become one?"

"He means Durmstrang's Finest Wizard." And it wasn't Viktor, not really, but he couldn't bring himself to speak the truth or lie to her so he kept quiet on that part.

"Not witch?"

He expected her to pick up on that. "I told you, Herm-own-ninny, Durmstrang was all-boys until twenty years ago."

"And you're telling me that not a single girl managed to snatch the title since?"

"It's not easy," he said, opening his eyes to look up at her from his place on the ground. "You only get one chance to make every potion right, to duel every professional and win, and to cast every curse and charm that exists."

She raised a brow, not in the least satisfied with the answer. "And you're telling me that not a single witch managed to accomplish all that?"

"Not with my family in the school."

She looked away from him and over the railings towards the stars he grew tired of just moments ago. "I see."

"My father was the last," he added, worried that she'd assume it's more politics than skill that earned his family the honor, which is not exactly false for his case but he knew that his father at least earned the title fairly. "Many tried to succeed him, but there was always one thing they could not do right."

"Until you came along."

"And Ivanna."

"Ivanna is a candidate?" she asked, looking at him. "I thought it was already decided that you're Durmstrang's finest."

"We only did mock tests last year, to make a list of competitors for the real one we will take this year after the tournament."

"Did anyone else make the list?"

He shook his head. Again he didn't correct her, because the truth is he's not supposed to be a candidate in the first place.

She looked thoughtful. "So that's what you and Ivanna are competing for."

He snorted. "Ivanna and I compete for everything, Herm-own-ninny. If she was a boy, or if you also liked girls, we will be competing for you."

And he was immensely grateful that that wasn't the case, as he really didn't want to deal with yet another rival.

She rolled her eyes, and then sat on the floor next to him with her back to the wall. "So what was the toughest part of the mock test?"

"Patronus charm."

"Oh, Harry managed to cast that just last year! Did I ever tell you? It was corporeal as well, this big beautiful stag, which is poetic if you think about it. We were told that his father's patronus was also a stag."

He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, repressing an exasperated sigh. _Of course_ Harry Potter the Boy Wonder can cast a perfectly corporeal patronus that is an exact replica of his heroic father's. If Hermione so much as implies that he's also a Parselmouth and a necromancer, Viktor will very happily chuck himself over the rails.

"But I can understand it being difficult," she continued, unaware of his growing bitter feelings towards her friend. "When you read it about it sounds so easy, but it's actually very complicated. You can't just pick any happy memory. It has to be exceptional for you in ways that it isn't for other people, and sometimes such memories are not necessarily happy ones to begin with so they're even harder to find. And Dementors are not easy to face, even if you are exceptionally good at casting a patronus! If you're faced with one or even several Dementors you'll not only have to cast a patronus but maintain it long enough for the Dementor to retreat, but really how long can you actually do that while dealing with the anxiety and fear and adrenaline _plus_ all the horrible negative feelings brought on by the Dementor alone?"

If that was an attempt to make him feel better, she had failed miserably. If anything it made him feel even more pathetic. Perhaps he was always meant to be a donkey with painted zebra stripes, powerful and sturdy and reliable but not exotic nor beautiful. Sufficiently entertaining but not what anyone would call an ideal first choice.

He needed ten points to win the Quidditch World Cup, seven points for the Triwizard Cup, one charm to secure his unofficial title as Durmstrang's Finest Wizard, and there's just one dense fourteen-year-old boy standing between him and Hermione. He can't seem to break this vicious cycle no matter how hard he tires, and he had always tried so very hard and often at the expense of his own health, but the result remained the same: always second best, always at the nick of time, just close enough to smell victory but never to taste it.

"It's late," he said, cutting her off mid-babble. Viktor had stopped listening at some point and didn't want to hear anymore about the many wonders of the Boy Who Lived from the same pretty mouth that probably didn't speak of him in the same light. "We will continue this later."

"Oh my goodness, look at the time!" she gasped, scurrying to her feet to gather her belongings. "I'm so sorry Viktor, I've lost track of things! You're not out past curfew yet, are you?"

"No curfew on ship," he said, quickly helping her into her cloak just as she was about to put it on backwards. "We follow the rules of Hogwarts, so when you have curfew we leave the castle."

She paused by the doorway. "Just… may I ask one last question?"

He nodded, holding the door open for her.

"What does one even get from being Durmstrang's Finest Wizard?"

"I cannot say."

"You're not allowed to?"

He smiled. "I cannot say because I don't know. It's Durmstrang's best kept secret."

* * *

The door of his private room was left ajar. Hushed voices drifted from within. Viktor quickly and quietly got in position. With his wand held tightly in one hand and a curse dangling at the tip of his tongue, he slowly pushed the door open with his free hand.

" _This is so stupid!"_ grumbled Markus, pacing to cover his uneasiness. Ivanna and Poliakoff were on their knees on the floor sorting through too many letters and documents to count. " _If you think Krum's going to know anything or even–"_

 _"_ _Will you stop whining and go find him like I asked you to_ hours _ago?"_ snapped Ivanna, glaring at him, all three students still unaware of Viktor's presence by the door.

 _"_ _I think he's right, Ivanna, it's pointless."_ Poliakoff, skimming over a letter before laying it next to the other three he's looked at. " _Look at these, they're all saying the same thing."_

 _"_ _Run,"_ she guessed with a tired sigh. _"I know. From what, though?"_

Viktor has had enough. He stepped in and slammed the door shut behind them, making Markus's very soul leap out of his body. It wasn't until he remembered their last encounter did Viktor understand why he looked significantly paler than he remembered.

" _What do you think you're doing in my room?"_ he demanded, then noticed the large empty space where his bed used to be. His irritation at his peers quickly morphed to anger. _"What the hell have you done to my bed?"_

Poliakoff looked ashamed and apologetic, meaning that this definitely wasn't his idea just as obviously as it wasn't Markus's.

Ivanna stared reproachfully back at him, as if he had done something wrong by interrupting their little meeting in _his_ room. _"Well we couldn't exactly wait for you to get over your fragile little feelings and join us in the real world where big and potentially dangerous things are happening."_

 _"_ _H-hey, what's with the 'we'?!"_ Markus squeaked, before quickly clearing his throat to cover that. _"I- I mean it was_ your _idea, Morozova!"_

Viktor ignored him and glared at Ivanna. _"If I'm not mistaken, Ivanna, or merely revolted by the idea, I'd say you're madly in love with me."_

She scoffed. _"Even in your wildest dreams, Krum, I think I'd have better sense than that."_

 _"_ _I admit that this is a rather undignified way of reaching you,"_ said Poliakoff, visibly flinching when Viktor's angry eyes turned on him. _"Under normal circumstances I really wouldn't trespass on private lodgings–"_

 _"_ _He doesn't own the ship!"_ Ivanna protested.

 _"–_ _but with this, whatever it is, there's an urgent feel to it and I really think you should have a look because it concerns you as a champion, a Krum, and most importantly Hermione's boyfriend."_

 _"_ _She's not my girlfriend!" he snapped, flushing more from embarrassment than anger. "And I told you I don't give a shit about–!"_

 _"_ _What if I told you that Gellert Grindelwald is making a comeback?"_ Ivanna said, effectively silencing his rampage. _"What if I told you that he plans on making his grand entrance during the final task of the Triwizard Tournament?"_

Viktor swallowed the shock. He took a moment to steady himself before answering, " _you're mistaken."_

 _"_ _How would you know?"_

 _"_ _He's not the man he once was. Nurmengard rotted his brain and body. He can't even wipe himself without assistance, let alone lead another rebellion."_

 _"_ _It could be an act."_

He leaned against the door and pinched the bridge of his nose. He wasn't going to get them to leave anytime soon. _"Fine. Let's assume for a moment that, somehow, you're correct on that assumption. What's your proof?"_

 _"_ _These,"_ she said, standing up on her feet and shoving one of the letters at him. _"I managed to steal some of Karkaroff's letters when he asked me to clean his office. None of them are sighed, but whatever he's sent those people they all responded with_ this _."_

 _Run… Flee… Hide…_

Viktor pushed the letter out of his face. _"Looks more like a stupid prank to me."_

 _"_ _Really, Viktor? You're not even going to think about it?"_

 _"_ _Karkaroff has pissed off a lot of people and he's pissing off even more as we speak. Some are bound to come for him eventually. I'm actually surprised it's taken them this long."_

Ivanna made a frustrated sound and stomped her foot on the ground, looking very much like a petulant child and nothing like her usual composed self. _"Gods I don't know what she sees in you, you're such an idiot!"_

She didn't say her name, but it struck a nerve all the same. He pushed himself off the door to tower over her, his expression dark and his fists shaking with barely contained rage. _"Get. Out."_

 _"_ _I'm not moving until you listen to every last word I have to say, Viktor Krum!"_ she responded defiantly, her steel eyes not wavering from his black ones.

 _"_ _Ok then maybe it's not Grindelwald!"_ Poliakoff as always attempted to diffuse the situation before it escalates, but this time he stood on the side and didn't try to physically place himself between them. _"It wouldn't make sense, anyway. Karkaroff was never associated with him or his ideals. My first guess would be the person Karkaroff was actually associated with but–"_

 _"_ _You Know Who is dead and the dead remain dead,"_ said Ivanna without looking away from Viktor. Something in her moved when she said that but she was quick to hide it.

 _"_ _Right. That rules out Grindelwald and He Who Must Not Be Named. My second guess is a copycat of the latter, a former Death Eater perhaps, one that somehow escaped an Azkaban sentence and has had bad blood with Karkaroff this entire time."_

 _"_ _Then why start all this now?"_ said Markus, finally participating with his oddly sensible thoughts on the matter. _"Why bother with Potter in the first place if this person is only after Karkaroff? Sounds like a big fucking waste of time to me."_

Ivanna broke her gaze to go sift through the documents on the ground. She returned to Viktor when she found the ones she was looking for. She appeared to be significantly calmer this time. _"Ana found these. They're copies of the original. Her owl reached me just this morning."_

 _"_ _You've got Ana involved?"_ said Viktor disapprovingly, taking the papers from her. _"What the hell, Ivanna!"_

One thing they both agreed on was that they absolutely hated the way that old pervert record keeper looked at Ana.

 _"_ _Ana can take care of herself,"_ she said, briefly averting her eyes. _"And that's not the issue at hand, anyway."_

He read over the documents then handed them back to her, unimpressed. _"Plea requests from my grandfather. What of them?"_

She snatched the papers with unnecessary force. _"Plea requests to not expel his star pupil, Gellert Grindelwald."_

 _"_ _So? It's not exactly news that my grandfather taught and favored Grindelwald."_

 _"_ _Until whatever it is that made him personally urge the school to expel him,"_ she said, pulling one of the documents from the pile and handing it to him. _"It put Illiya Krum on temporary suspension and it nearly cost him his position and his reputation. I'm certain he knew of the risk and yet he still took it. Why?"_

 _"_ _Because he finally saw Grindelwald for what he truly was?"_

 _"_ _Or he realized that Grindelwald was another kind of evil."_

 _"_ _How is what I said any different?"_

 _"_ _I meant the kind of evil without limits. Powerful beyond measures. Maybe Illiya Krum had him expelled because Durmstrang would nurture that kind of evil and provide it with the tools to destroy our world. Who knows how much more damage he would've inflicted had he stayed longer!"_

Viktor shook his head, tired of this endless chase. _"You give that man more credit than he deserves."_

 _"_ _Fine!"_ she huffed, grudgingly accepting defeat and throwing the papers over her shoulders like they held little value. _"What about Poliakoff's theory, then?"_

He shrugged. _"What do you expect me to do with it? Take it to the Aurors if you're so concerned."_

She narrowed her eyes at him. _"And what will they do? Your father is protecting him."_

There's that same old accusation, he thought. It was as if he had personally begged his father to take Karkaroff of all people under his wing. Viktor himself remains confused of his father's motive behind that decision. _"He has no influence over British Aurors, and even if he did he wouldn't protect Karkaroff from this. If proven true, it's a scandal my father will wash his hands from."_

 _"_ _I told you coming here was a stupid idea!"_ said Markus, unable to contain himself any longer, looking like he was about to shove past Viktor and out the door but then quickly holding back _._

 _"_ _It is,"_ said Viktor, opening the door wide, " _and now we're through talking. Kindly return my bed and then proceed to get the fuck out of my room."_

Markus quickly and happily obliged. Poliakoff followed behind more hesitantly, taking a moment to enlarge Viktor's previously shrunken bed and offer an apology on his way out. Ivanna lingered.

Viktor growled, his grip on the door handle now tightened. If he weren't so mentally spent he'd forcefully shove her out. _"I said we're finished here."_

 _"_ _I know you saw it,"_ she said, almost gently. _"I saw it on your face that day. Something is wrong with Karkaroff and you know it. He's not himself. He hasn't been himself for a long while."_ When he didn't deny it she walked past him and out the door. _"Hermione is a Muggle-born. Had You Know Who lived, she would've been one of the first to die. Keep that in mind."_

He laughed at that, a defeated and sad tune, but Ivanna had already left by then. _"Bullshit. She'd be perfectly fine with Harry Potter. Didn't you know? He's the greatest wizard in the world."_

* * *

Weeks had passed since Viktor last saw Hermione. Ivanna didn't try to broach the subject of dead dark wizards again, but he knew that she was still obsessing over it. Sometimes he'd spot Markus moping around her, but he never so much as lifted a finger to help. Poliakoff's contribution was more consistent.

By the time Easter rolled around the grounds were blanketed in a thick layer of snow and the lake frozen solid. Viktor expected to see lots of students outside building snowmen or ice-skating on the lake, but save for first and second years most seemed to prefer the warmth of fireplaces indoors.

Viktor had forgotten all about his order until he saw Rosa's package on his bed. There was a simple velvety cream box and a small yet elegantly decorated basket full to the rim with small chocolate eggs of all flavors nestling one giant chocolate egg shaped like a dragon's.

 _The pretty one is obviously hers,_ her card read.

He didn't need to go looking for Hermione. She was easy to spot from his window in her red and gold colors. She was visibly upset as she marched towards a large elm tree not too far from the ship. He quickly slipped on his boots and cloak and remembered to grab Rosa's basket with him on his way out.

He ducked under low branches and found her leaning against the bark with her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The dismayed pout curved into a half-smile when she saw him. "Happy Easter," she murmured.

He leaned next to her against the bark. Their arms nearly touched. He kept her basket hidden under his thick cloak for the time being and used his free hand to pull the hood over his head to shield his ears from the cold. "Did something happen?"

She pulled out a small, carelessly re-wrapped chocolate egg from her coat pocket and offered it to him. He accepted it, and when he tore the wrapper he saw that she had already taken a small bite.

"Go on, try it," she said. "I promise it's not poison." She meant it as a jest but she was too upset to deliver it properly.

Viktor took a small bite, then another without meaning to. It was perhaps the most delicious thing he's ever tasted, a perfect rival to Rosa's.

"I don't understand," he said. "It's good."

"It's orange," she deadpanned, then added to his questioning look: "I hate orange chocolate."

"Then why did you buy this?"

"It's from Molly. She knows I hate it but she still sent it, all because of Rita Skeeter and her stupid article." She huffed. " _Scarlet woman._ Really now!"

"Don't be upset, Herm-own-ninny," he said, lightly nudging her arm. "I think you look good in red."

She glared at him. "That's not what it means and you know it."

"Maybe it was a mistake?" he tried.

"Not when you compare it to the monster eggs she sent Harry and Ron."

He scoffed, choosing now to show her Rosa's basket and delighting in the way it instantly transformed her previously downtrodden expression.

"For _me?_ " she asked, tentatively taking the basket to examine its contents more closely. _"All_ of it?"

He nodded, smiling. "Happy Easter, Herm-own-ninny."

"Oh, Viktor it's so lovely!" she said, now practically glowing. "I– I don't know what to say- Thank you!"

She set her gift next to her bag on the snow to surprise Viktor with one of the tightest hugs she's ever given him. In his shock he couldn't stop her from pulling away to crouch by her bag. She was saying something again but his heart was pounding too loudly in his ears. He shook his head, then sheepishly asked her to repeat herself.

"I said that I'm really embarrassed right now," she said, rummaging through her bag still. "I had an Easter gift for you as well." She took a deep breath before turning towards him with a chocolate bunny in her hands. "I don't know if you've come across him and I hope you haven't, but we have this poltergeist in the castle called Peeves."

"I heard," he said, and refrained from adding that he probably hadn't seen Peeves because his peers have tried to have him exorcised on their second day, as Durmstrang's zero-tolerance policy towards poltergeists encouraged it.

"Yes, well, it turns out that he changed the labels in the kitchen last night and I just found out a while ago." She sighed, looking dejectedly at the thing representing her wasted effort. "I wanted to make you a new one but the kitchen will be busy until after suppertime. I thought I'd drop by Honeydukes but I got all stupidly worked up over Molly's eggs." He cocked his head at the gift in her hands, expecting it to come alive or maybe explode in his face. It looked rather harmless and very well made. "I'm so sorry, Viktor."

She looked up at him with tears brimming in her eyes and his heart shattered. The mere thought that she had gone through all this trouble for him had eased his troubled mind and he'd be damned if he lets her leave him in that state. He took the chocolate bunny from her hands and unwrapped it, breaking one ear and taking a bite of it.

She gaped at him, her eyes the size of saucers. His stomach lurched because it was the exact opposite of Molly's egg in the sense that it was absolutely _foul_ but he put on a brave face and swallowed. He quickly ate the second half of the ear.

"What– what are you _doing_?" she gasped, watching in horror as he broke the other ear. "Didn't you hear what I just said? Peeves mixed the labels! I got the recipe all _wrong!_ "

He stubbornly shook his head, forcing it all down. "It is delicious. Better than Molly's. I love it."

"Impossible!" She then narrowed her eyes at him. He took a step back, holding the monstrosity to his chest protectively. "Let me try it– _Viktor!"_

He took off before she could finish, going around the tree and shoving more chocolate pieces in his mouth.

She wasn't too far behind. "Viktor, I just want to try a piece!"

"No. Mine." He barely managed to say in a mouthful, stumbling over a root but pushing forward.

"I made it!"

"For me."

The head was gone. He had started on the body even as his stomach complained. He took it as a sign that his taste buds have already died at this point.

She grabbed his cloak, but he quickly unfastened the clasp on his neck just as she pulled. She growled in frustration. "Oh for goodness sake, just stop this already! I know it's bad!"

"It's the best."

It was the worst.

"Viktor, _please,_ I don't want you to get sick!"

"I will never be sick from something this delicious!"

So far he's certain he's eaten flour, salt, wasabi, vinegar, eel sauce, and unsweetened raw dark chocolate that must've been the base.

This abomination will be the death of him, he's absolutely certain of it, but not before he eats every last piece.

She gave up on the chase, for she was clearly no match for his stamina, but unfortunately for him she may as well surpass him in magic. One twirl of her wand and his discarded cloak took hold of his ankles. He flopped face-first into the snow, dropping the last piece. She ran towards it but he was still too fast. He snatched the piece out of her reach just in time and shoved it into his mouth, snow and dead leaves and dirt included. He hoped it'd improve the taste but it somehow made it worse.

" _No,_ spit it out!" she shrieked, hauling him to his knees with surprising strength and putting her hands on his face to pry his mouth open. "You insufferable _arse,_ you'll actually get poisoned this time!"

He grinned, showcasing his victory in the form of a clear mouth. "Good girls don't say bad words."

She responded by shoving him and then pelting him with snow. He laughed harder.

"You're not funny!" she said, throwing one last snowball at his chest.

"Oh?" He raised a brow, sitting up on his knees now that she has stopped her assault. "Then why are you smiling?"

She scoffed and looked away, biting hard on her lips to contain that smile. "I'm not. You're seeing things." Her cheeks turned pink. "Was it really good, then?"

"No."

She glared at him.

"You were not going to let me keep it," he said.

"I was going to buy you a new one!"

"I don't want it. I want one you make for me, it's better."

It's the thought that counts, even if the thought nearly killed him.

"But it's not fair! You got me this amazing gift basket and I–"

"Rosa made it."

"Because you asked her to, for _me!"_

"So? Same thing."

"No it's not! You've gotten me something wonderful for every occasion!" she slumped, looking remorsefully up at him again. "You always go out of your way for me and the one time I thought I had something to give back I… I spoiled it."

"Stop saying that," he said softly, his hand reaching for a stray curl and tucking it behind her ear. "You did not spoil anything. I love your gift, I swear."

"It wasn't a proper gift, Viktor."

"You don't have to give me anything. I am happy to spend time with you."

"But I want to, at least once." An idea occurred to her then. "Alright then how about you just tell me what you want and I'll get it for you."

"I don't want anything."

She rolled her eyes. "We all want something, Viktor."

"Not me."

"Come now, I'm being serious here! _Anything_ you want," she urged, gripping his hand with both of hers tightly. "Please, Viktor, do it for me. Ask me for something and whatever it is I promise it's yours."

"Anything…?" he murmured, more to himself, his hand soaking the heat from hers.

She grinned. "Absolutely."

He wasn't thinking. He kissed her. Rather, his lips briefly brushed hers before she turned her head to the side.

"Don't do that again," she warned in a low voice.

She had her hands on his chest. He didn't resist when she pushed him away. He couldn't bring himself to look at her face. "You said anything."

"Not this. Not _here._ Someone could see us."

"No one is here."

"The ship–"

"They don't care."

"I wasn't talking about your classmates."

"Karkaroff is with Dumbledore and Maxime. Now what is your excuse?"

He couldn't help leaking the bitterness and frustration, even if it wasn't really directed at her. He had never felt so stupid and embarrassed and he had never wanted to take anything back as much as he did that kiss. They were finally making progress again and he had ruined it all because he wanted to have a weak, impulsive moment for himself.

"I'm not making excuses!" she said defensively, then took a deep breath. She leaned forward to look at his face. He didn't know what expression his held but hers was as imploring as her voice when she whispered, "I'm getting closer to the truth but I can't tell you anything yet. I promise you it's not what you think."

And yet everything she's said and done so far indicates that it's exactly what he thinks.

"We just can't be seen together right now," she explained, nervously toying with the hem of her coat and seemingly struggling to maintain his eye. "It's causing too many misunderstandings. We've got to put a stop to those first before…" she trailed off, blushing slightly, "…you _know_."

Except he doesn't, not anymore. He'd think she'd be more inclined to show him off if she were trying to make Potter jealous, but now she's talking about being with him in secret as if he were some toothless beggar rather than a Quidditch champion.

 _But really what is a Quidditch champion to the Boy Who Lived? What does catching a Snitch amount to when compared to surviving a killing curse cast by the most powerful dark wizard?_

He hadn't met her expectations. She's ashamed of him but pities him too much to let him go.

 _Viktor Krum, a subject of pity._ _Imagine that!_ The reports would say.

Or maybe that's not the case, because he knows she's not like that. He's certain of it, and has been since that night at the Astronomy tower. Maybe she was simply one more thing he wasn't meant to have.

 _You do have a habit of wanting things that aren't yours._

"I am sorry, I make a mistake," he finally said, surprised at hearing his own voice sound so calm. He rose to his feet and offered her a hand. "I will never do that again."

"Never?" she repeated, accepting his offer and allowing him to lift her to her feet.

He brushed the snow from his pants and secured his cloak over his shoulders as he spoke. "You don't want something serious. It's ok, I also don't want. We will be good friends."

She shook her head. "I don't understand. The things you said at the lake, and the other day…?"

This time he actually felt the tear in his chest, but his mouth conveyed none of it. "Stupid things. Forget it. I told you, is ok. I am happy with you, even as friends, and friends don't kiss each other so I will not do it again." He was surprised to feel himself smiling. "You don't worry anymore. I am not upset. I promise I will be a good friend to you."

"Friends." she said, her face downcast and partially hidden by her wild curls and thick wooly scarf. "Friends. Right." She looked like she wanted to say more. He waited patiently but the silence only seemed to stretch until she turned from him. "I should go back then. I'll see you around?"

"Of course."

"Good."

She breathed deeply, then walked to where her bag and his gift were. She wordlessly hoisted her bag over her shoulder and turned to his gift and faltered, as if contemplating abandoning it, but then she seemed to have thought better of it.

* * *

Viktor woke that night in cold sweat, gasping for breath like a drowning man and shivering so violently the frame of his bed shook with him. _What the hell?!_ Was all he could think as his mind struggled to recall the nightmare—flooding, eruptions, earthquakes, and a mighty battle that he was a part of except he wasn't really himself but a whole other being standing alongside brothers and sisters he's sure he doesn't have. There was a serpent that emerged from the raging waters of the oceans unscathed, a wolf the size of a mountain, and a giant made of flames. He remembers the flame-engulfed giant most vividly for he charged towards him. He felt the flames of his sword searing his skin and bones, the pain so real and intense it woke him up.

He looked down at his body, his own too-skinny and sallow body soaking his sheets with sweat and not blood. There wasn't a scar in sight, either, but he couldn't go back to sleep, not after that, for although he woke from that world he brought the battle back with him.

And this time he will _not_ get burned.

The quiet evening and cloudless starlit night sky greatly opposed the storm brewing within. It was so strong and so intense that Viktor felt it would tear him to shreds. He rushed to Karkaroff's office without a second thought to his boots or cloak. He banged so hard on the ancient wood it rattled.

 _"_ _What the devil– ?"_ Karkaroff bellowed, yanking the door open.

 _"_ _Train me,"_ Viktor rasped, leaning on the doorframe with one hand and keeping the door open with the other.

 _"_ _How dare you approach me this way, you insolent brat!"_ Karkaroff roared, too loud and mighty for his thinning frame but formidable enough against the storm. _"I am your Headmaster, not to be summoned so obscenely in the middle of the night like one of your servants. You are terribly mistaken if you think you're above all the other imbeciles on board for me to let this slip by unpunished!"_

 _"_ _Train me,"_ he repeated with more vigor.

Karkaroff sneered. _"That ship sailed long ago, little Seeker. I train men for battle, not lovesick little boys."_

He grabbed the collar of Karkaroff's robes and pulled him off his feet, bringing his face so close to his own that he saw fear flash across his headmaster's face faster than the startled cry he uttered. _"I want to win."_

Karkaroff stumbled backwards when Viktor released him. Viktor expected a jet of green to come his way, but Karkaroff laughed instead. Viktor's head jerked to the direction of the sound. His headmaster was leaning against his littered desk, his bony hands gripping the edge for support as his body shook with laughter.

 _"_ _For a moment there you sounded like a real champion,"_ he managed to say after a while, his breath labored still. _"That is something I can work with, but not without a cost. Time is precious, my boy, and I need to be insured that you won't waste it."_

There was only one thing on Viktor's mind. _"I want to win."_

Karkaroff's smile was cruel.


	17. Chapter 17

Igor Karkaroff was a smart man. He was also a cruel man, and a coward for sure, but most certainly not a fool. Worse yet, he also happened to be the kind that is always fully prepared to face any situation. He had agreed to train Viktor for the final task but only if in return Viktor agrees to abide by certain conditions – three in specific, all as outrageous and difficult to accept as Viktor had dreaded, but really what choice did he have? He _must_ win.

His first condition wasn't too hard to follow, for it was one that is already applied to both student and faculty of Durmstrang. It is to do _everything_ Karkaroff instructs him to, no questions asked.

 _"_ _First order of business,"_ he had said that night, ushering Viktor in and closing the door behind him. He conjured a seat by his large cluttered desk. Viktor sat on it without invitation as Karkaroff proceeded to clear the mess and then pass him a single sheet of parchment paper and an inkbottle and quill. _"You must write to your father."_

Viktor frowned, but picked the quill and dipped it in ink. _"What do I tell him?"_

 _"_ _You're not going to tell him anything. You are going to apologize, my boy, and you're going to mean it."_

Viktor tossed the quill onto the table, splattering bits of ink on the wood. _"I will do no such thing."_

 _"_ _Now, now, Viktor!"_ laughed Karkaroff, looking a little too smug as he picked up the discarded quill. _"Didn't you say you wanted to win?"_

 _"_ _I just don't see how–"_

 _"_ _Honor our agreement and I promise you that cup will be ours! Also do keep in mind that if I suspect you faltering I'm leaving you to your own devices again,"_ he said, leaning on the edge of the table and offering him the quill again. He smirked. _"I suggest groveling. He might also be moved by a few sweet words from his son, but unfortunately I'm not well versed in such writing. Just make sure it sounds sincere and leave the rest to me."_

Viktor swallowed his pride and did as he was told. He didn't know what to expect but a week later he received an answer in the form of three lifelike combat training puppets in Karkaroff's office. They were as faceless as regular puppets but with a stronger built that seemed almost fit for Auror training. It wouldn't surprise Viktor if they were actually delivered straight from the Bulgarian Auror department. He noticed that two of them were distinctly shaped like males and one a female. One of the males was a head shorter than the other.

Karkaroff gave him a toothy grin. _"Your father sends his regards."_

 _"_ _They seem to be modelled after the champions,"_ Viktor noted, looking between his headmaster and the puppets standing still as statues. What exactly was he trying to achieve?

Viktor had taken it upon himself to read extensively on the Triwizard Tournament before submitting his own name for the delegation. He hadn't come across anything that indicates that any given task would require the champions to duel each other, in fact if a champion were to take the initiative and challenge another then he or she would immediately lose all awarded points. Even if the judges were curious enough to scrape the rule this time it would surely put Durmstrang's champion at a great advantage over that of Hogwarts and Beauxbatons, as the latter two schools don't include dueling or any form of martial arts in their curriculum, therefore it wouldn't be a fair competition anymore.

And assuming that that particular rule was overlooked somehow, it definitely wouldn't be his father's doing either. For one, Stefan Krum's strong influence might stretch far, but the further out of Bulgaria he moves the weaker it gets. Second, he's not one to put that power on display.

Viktor wouldn't have to duel any of the champions, he's certain of it, but that still doesn't answer his question. Why would they go through the trouble of modelling combat training puppets after his rivals?

A thought occurred to him. He dreaded the answer but he had to ask. _"Is there one modelled after me?"_

 _"_ _I was afraid you wouldn't ask,"_ said Karkaroff, stepping away from the puppets to stand next to Viktor, admiring the three still lifeless beings as if he were a proud father. _"You see, Viktor, we didn't have the other champions' combat profile to implement into these puppets– assuming, of course, that hey have one to begin with!"_ he took a moment to chuckle to himself, _"so we compensated with that of Auror recruits'. Of course that's still not enough, as the majority of the recruits normally don't pass the first screening, so we came up with this alternative."_

 _"_ _I don't see how using my own combat skills against me could possibly work. We'd be tied at every match."_

 _"_ _I suppose that's true,"_ said Karkaroff, toying with the curled tip of his beard thoughtfully. He smiled. _"But you know how the saying goes, don't you? You are your worst adversary."_

Viktor looked at his headmaster with astonishment. Surely that didn't just come out of Igor Karkaroff himself, proud blood supremacist with an explosive temper and mild misogynistic tendencies? He couldn't believe it, and he hated to admit it even to himself, but the plan was brilliant.

 _"_ _So when will the fourth puppet arrive?"_ he asked, now eager to try his hand against his own skills.

 _"_ _He's already here,"_ said Karkaroff, casually as if he were commenting on the weather. " _Come now, Viktor, when did you become such a terrible listener? I just told you. He's your worst adversary and he's currently somewhere on the ship biding his time and waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike."_

 _"…_ _He's been activated?"_

 _"_ _Oh yes, has been for hours, but don't worry about any…let's call it 'collateral damage'. He's been charmed to target only you and to remain within the ship's boundaries."_

 _"_ _And if I'm caught unawares?"_

He shrugged. _"You'll drop dead, I suppose."_

Viktor blinked. _"I beg your pardon?"_

 _"_ _You heard right. He's been tasked with killing you so do trudge carefully. I don't think I can find a replacement on such short notice to compete in your steed should he succeed."_

Now it all made sense. This was definitely Karkaroff's idea, because only Karkaroff would go so far as to set an assassin after his own student. Perhaps Viktor wasn't too mistaken to come to him after all, assuming of course that he can keep his head on his shoulders until the final task rolls around.

* * *

Viktor kept a vigilant eye on the back of his head for the days that followed but his adversary, as he liked to call him, had yet to strike, but even without him Karkaroff's new training regimen was extreme. The other three puppets didn't have the semi-artificial intelligence of his adversary and they required Karkaroff to act as puppeteer and direct their every move, and at first Viktor wasn't too worried but it didn't take long for him to learn that they can be brutal under Karkaroff's control. If he weren't sparring with puppets or studying whatever material Karkaroff deemed necessary he'd be exercising and running laps around the lake until it was time for both headmaster and champion to make an appearance at the Great Hall.

 _"_ _Hermione was looking for you today,"_ said Poliakoff one evening over supper.

Viktor looked up at him from the leftover stake pieces and boiled vegetables on his plate. Karkaroff had cut off carbs, sugar, fat, and alcohol from his diet. _"What did she want?"_

Poliakoff glanced at Markus, who promptly dropped his glare to his plate. _"W-well I suppose she wanted to see you because…because she misses you?"_

He was being cautious. He already had a grimace set in place, as if he was anticipating an outburst, but oddly enough Viktor didn't feel one coming. He blamed it on the exhaustion.

 _"_ _I'm busy training for the final task,"_ he said when he realized that he's been staring at Poliakoff for too long. He threw a quick glance at her table, and sure enough she herself was stealing glances back at him. It didn't set his heart alight like it used to. _"It's why I came all the way here in the first place, to win."_

 _"_ _Well isn't that just wonderful!"_ said Ivanna sarcastically, briefly looking up from her notes to glare at him. _"Mind telling her yourself sometime? Our hands are full enough as it is. I'm not going to ask you to help because obviously you've got better_ _things to do than waste your time with us plebeians, but we could do with less interruptions from your messy love life."_

Clearly Ivanna was still bitter about their last unsolicited meeting at his room. Viktor decided to ignore her. He didn't have the energy to argue with her and whatever he had left he needed to save for next day.

Besides, Karkaroff's second condition was terminating all communications with Hermione. His reasoning was that she had become a distraction, but Viktor was no simpleton. He knew how Karkaroff felt about her and her blood lineage but he didn't dare bring it up. He had to have Karkaroff on his side if he hoped to win, even if it meant further distancing himself from Hermione.

Some nights he dreams of the Yule Ball where she first started seeing him in the same light he's always seen her, before all the mess with the second task and Skeeter's article, and the feelings he had buried for the sake of his pledge resurface to suffocate him. During those long nights he'd find himself longing to hold her again, or to remain asleep and dance with her in his dreams until the end of days, but then a slight movement in the shadows jerks him awake.

He doesn't see any sign of his adversary, but he still sleeps with his wand by his side. The second time he drifts he doesn't see Hermione in his dreams.

* * *

He would've collided with her had he decided to leave the Great Hall a second earlier. He thought he'd take his chance since she had yet to appear for breakfast but on his way out she appeared by the door with Potter and Weasley in tow. They boys were too busy conversing to notice him hurriedly walking past them but he felt her eyes trailing after him.

He didn't expect her to follow him.

"So friends don't talk now?" she said, a little disgruntled, jogging a little to keep up with his long and fast strides.

"I'm busy," he said without looking at her.

"You can spare five minutes."

"Not even one minute. There is not enough time left for final task."

"What are you talking about, there's plenty of time left! And it's not like you've got clues or riddles to solve this time, the judges will tell you all about the third task a month in advance! I mean even Harry doesn't seem to be–"

"Potter doesn't care!" he snapped without really meaning to, halting his fast strides to glare at her. He couldn't help it. He's had _enough_ of Harry Potter and he doesn't care how pitiful and childish it makes him look but he absolutely refuses to listen to one more story about how fucking _wonderful_ and _powerful_ and an all-around _perfect_ little wizard he is. "He is not serious about this competition. He doesn't want this championship, he wants to play with other little boys, but I come a _long_ way to compete and I worked _very_ hard for this chance and I did not come here to lose."

 _He also doesn't care about you,_ he wanted to add, _not nearly as much as I still do. You're just a means to an end for him. He wouldn't lift a finger for you even if you publically declare your undying love for him. He wouldn't do a fraction of the things I did just to get your attention. No man would readily discard his pride and dignity the way I did, but what does it matter to you when in the end I'm still Viktor Krum and not Harry Potter?_

The look on her face could've fooled him. It was like he said it all out loud and for a moment he feared that he may have actually done so without knowing it, but then she asked: "Why are you avoiding me?"

He had expected her to be offended and to immediately jump to her friend's defence, but he had let her get close enough to be able to read him with a single glance. He wished she'd just shout at him instead and _not_ pretend that she cares about his wellbeing. It made things so much more difficult because there was still that infuriating part of him that wanted to believe that she had chosen him after all.

"I am not avoiding you," he said, this time more calmly. "I told you I am busy."

"You're upset."

"I'm tired."

"You know you can talk to me, Viktor."

"I have nothing to say."

"Nothing at all? You have nothing to say to me?"

"I told you I am ok."

"You just said that you're tired."

"From training, but it's ok."

"No it's not!" She stopped herself, then sighed. "This isn't working. We need to go somewhere else to talk."

He raised a brow. "You said you don't want people to see us together."

"Yes I did, but things changed. I don't think there's any need for secrecy anymore."

But he was already walking away, stammering a quick goodbye and something about the tournament. She jogged to catch up with him but he didn't stop for her this time. He couldn't give her another chance because if she tugs at his heart one more time she'll shred it beyond repair and he needs to stay focused to win.

"Will you just _listen_?" she tried to make him stop by grabbing his arm. He quickly pulled it out of her reach. "Viktor, it's alright! I've figured it out!"

"Not now. I am busy. Sorry." He rushed over the platform of the ship that physically separated her from him, not daring to look back or to listen to her stuttered pleadings. _I have to win._

* * *

Karkaroff's third and final condition was to maintain a distant, strictly professional relationship with the other champions and to only interact with them when absolutely necessary.

Viktor was sparring with the female puppet by the lake early in the afternoon. It was rather cold even for him, but they had been sparring so vigorously and for such a long time that he was already beginning to sweat. All of a sudden the puppet dropped limply on the grass before him.

"These are training grounds, young man, and a session is currently in place," he heard Karkaroff scolding from a short distance.

"I'm so sorry, Professor Karkaroff, I wasn't aware," replied Cedric, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. "Would it be alright with you if I borrow Viktor for a few minutes?"

His charms had the opposite effect on Karkaroff. "It's _Headmaster_ Karkaroff."

"Er, sorry, Headmaster Karkaroff–"

"And your request does not sit well with me. Viktor is busy training, as _you_ should be on your own training grounds rather than waste time spying on your rivals, but really what more can I expect from Dumbledore's second champion if his first keeps buying his way to the top?"

Cedric gaped at him like a fish out of water, too stunned by the sudden and unwarranted accusation to form a worded response. Clearly he hadn't had the pleasure of speaking to Karkaroff before to know that he was actually being civil this time. Viktor chose to interfere before things get out of hand.

 _"_ _I'll take care of this,"_ he said to Karkaroff, quickly adding when he saw that he was about to protest: _"we'll waste more time trying to get him to leave. I won't be long."_

Karkaroff considered it for a moment. "I suppose you could use a five minute break," he said slowly to Viktor, eyeing the two of them suspiciously. "Five minutes. No more."

"Thank you, sir!" said Cedric a little too enthusiastically. Viktor quickly ushered him away.

"What do you want?" he asked when he felt that they've put a safe distance between them and his headmaster. "I'm busy, Diggory."

"I can see that," he muttered with amusement, looking over Viktor's shoulders to the limp puppet and Karkaroff pacing impatiently not too far from it. "You're clearly taking this _very_ seriously."

"Of- of course I am taking it seriously!" he sputtered, stunned and irritated at the assumption that he hadn't been taking the competition seriously before. Did everyone in this school take him for a fool? "You think I am putting my name in the Goblet of Fire for fun?"

"Oh, no! Of course not, that's not what I meant at all!"

But Viktor wasn't having it. He had balled his hands into fists by his sides and glared at the younger, fumbling boy, and said vehemently, "I come here to bring honour to my school and to my country. I did not come to make stupid jokes."

"Viktor, mate, calm down! No one is suggesting you did!" Cedric urged, shrinking slightly and holding his hands up in submission, although he didn't look as nearly frightened as he looked shocked. "I'm really sorry if it came out like that. I truly didn't mean it. I know you're serious about the competition, as am I and Fleur and Harry, and really it's admirable. I wasn't trying to upset you. I was just making an observation."

He stared hard at him, waiting for his mask to crack, but Cedric's expression was as open and sincere as always. "Why are you here, Diggory?"

The friendly expression he usually wears around Viktor wasn't there for once. There was deep concern instead and it aggravated Viktor just as much as it picked on the scab of his mounting guilt.

"You're pushing yourself too hard," he said. "I'm just worried you'll burn out before you could show the judges what you're made of."

"I have to push myself to win. This is the Triwizard Tournament."

"That you got selected in the first place is an honourable feat on its own. Your health is more important. It's not the end of the world if you don't come in first place, you know."

Viktor narrowed his eyes. "What do you want?"

"I want you to not kill yourself over some silly competition."

"Then why put your name if you think it's silly?" he demanded. "You said you wanted glory. I remember."

"Of course I do, but not like _this_!" he exclaimed in frustration, putting both hands on Viktor's shoulders and shaking him once. "Honestly, Krum, do you look at yourself in the mirror sometimes? You're paler than the Fat Friar and thinner than a broom! And I don't understand because you really don't need to go this far, you're bloody brilliant enough on your own."

Viktor shrugged his hands off. "I am ok. Worry about yourself."

He scoffed. "Oh I am definitely _not_ going to be worried about myself if you keep this up."

"Your loss," he said, meaning to part with him there but this time Cedric was being persistent.

"Did something happen with Granger?" he asked. Viktor's temper flared instantly at the stinging reminder of their last encounter but before he could express it Cedric had apparently thought it wise to add fuel by saying, "Cho saw her the other day returning from the lake looking absolutely shattered. She wanted to talk to her of course, but Granger more or less bolted to her house's common room."

"Nothing happened," he said, or growled more like, shoving past Cedric and back towards Karkaroff. Cedric followed.

"Are you quite sure about that?"

"Yes. Go away."

"Doesn't look like nothing to me."

Viktor stopped. He closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and took a long deep breath. It wouldn't do to physically assault another champion.

"I'm just trying to help, mate," he said, offering the Seeker a kind smile. "Look, if it's about that article–"

"Stop helping me."

Cedric blinked, taken aback by the sudden change. Viktor's voice was low, but it wasn't exactly gentle nor was it threatening. He sounded as tired as he looked and it did nothing to quell the Hufflepuff's worries. "I'm not running a charity, Krum. You're my friend. I _want_ to help you."

"We are not friends, Diggory." He felt Karkaroff's eyes on them as he said it and for once he didn't mind him listening in. If anything it's probably something he wanted to hear for a long time.

"I'm sorry?" Cedric asked, but he didn't really need to because he heard his rival very clearly. His stunned, hurt expression said it all.

"We are not friends," Viktor repeated, slowly as if to a child. "I did not come here to make friends, or to look at old villages, or to fall in love."

His eyes widened. "You're in love with Granger."

Viktor scowled, blushing madly and forcing himself to maintain composure while also internally cursing his loose tongue and Cedric's sharp ears. This is not something he could afford to speculate on now of all times. "I am here to win."

"It's your headmaster, isn't it?" he asked, unable to keep his excitement at the accidental revelation. "He's making you do this, isn't he? He doesn't want you around Granger, and I reckon he's not too happy with me either–"

"This is _me,_ you idiot! _"_ he snarled, angrier at the hope and all the other warm fluttery feelings Cedric was reigniting in him than at the situation itself. It was exactly that kind of talk that pushed him into this mess and he just found his footing. "You don't know me, Diggory!" he quickly added when he saw that the younger champion was about to argue, effectively silencing him. "I told you, we are not friends! We will _never_ be friends! You know why? It's because I don't _make_ friends!" he felt empowered by his anger, so much so that he didn't care that he was shouting and likely drawing attention to himself from his peers. "I make legacies, Diggory, I don't have time to be nice! I am the fastest Seeker in the world, heir to the Krum name and richest young man in Bulgaria, and I am also going to be Durmstrang's Finest Wizard before I graduate. This is who I am. This is what I do. I _win._ "

He was breathing hard by the time he finished. Cedric merely stared at him as if he were a bizarre dream, seemingly unable to comprehend neither him nor the words he labored to utter.

"My god, you're lonely," Cedric finally said, his handsome face conveying profound sadness. "You are indeed the most loneliest fellow I've ever met and I can do nothing but feel sorry for you."

Viktor opened his mouth to speak but Karkaroff beat him to it, staring smugly down at them with his arms folded over his chest. "Spoken like a true green wizard."

Cedric averted his eyes, glowering hard at the grass. He opened his mouth and closed it several times, looking like he wanted to say things that went against his principles to Karkaroff, but then seemed to think better of it. He was cold when he spoke again, either towards Karkaroff or Viktor or both. Viktor reckons it's the third and he thought they deserved nothing less. "I'm sorry I kept you from your training. Best of luck."

Karkaroff came to stand beside Viktor as he watched Cedric walking further and further away from them. _"He's wrong, you know."_

 _"_ _He's good."_ Viktor couldn't believe how perfectly calm he sounded when he felt so small and pathetic on the inside.

 _"_ _It doesn't matter if he's good or bad,"_ said Karkaroff, turning to look at Viktor. It was one of those rare moments when Karkaroff spoke to him with none of the usual coldness or nagging or faked mirth. Such moments often reminded him of the long talks he's had with his father concerning his growing fame. _"In life you are alone, Viktor. It doesn't matter if you surround yourself with thousands of friends and lovers and father dozens of strong and healthy boys, or if you own all the riches in the world and declare yourself king. It's an undisputed fact. When times get hard you will only have yourself to rely on, not Cedric Diggory or your little Muggle-born friend, and the sooner you learn this the easier it will get for you when such times come."_

 _"_ _Diggory is good,"_ he insisted.

Karkaroff rolled his eyes. _"I suppose he is, but so was Ivan Morozov and look at where that got him."_

 _"_ _He died a hero. He suffered and risked so much to smuggle Muggle-born children to safety."_

 _"_ _Oh yes he was a brave man indeed, but let's not beat around the bush. He was too idealistic, too foolish and irresponsible and delusional. It doesn't matter how he died, just the fact that he_ died _and left a young widow to fend for herself and for a small girl that would take his great name to the grave someday."_ He shook his head, puzzled still with the man's choices. " _Orphaned his child and ended his powerful bloodline in one go, all for the sake of strangers' children that probably don't even remember his name."_

 _"_ _Ivanna is a strong witch,"_ he argued. He wouldn't ever say it to her face, especially not since she's been behaving the way she has around him, but it was the truth and Viktor didn't like the things Karkaroff implied about her father even with all the praises in between.

 _"_ _It doesn't matter. Her name will die with her."_ He then smiled his too-familiar, too-friendly smile. _"Your father, on the other hand, was much smarter. While Ivan was busy doing what was right your father did what was sensible. He kept his head down, declared loyalty to no ideology but his family's, and looked after his own assets. And look at him today! Alive and well, for starters, with an empire that expanded his family's fortune and power beyond any of his ancestor's wildest imaginations and a promising heir that would only take it further from here."_

The sun was beginning to set. Cedric had long since disappeared indoors. Karkaroff studied Viktor as he stared off into the distance. He wasn't thinking over Karkaroff's little life lesson, but of the things that led him to preach it so passionately.

Karkaroff clamped a hand over Viktor's shoulder and squeezed in what was probably meant to be an encouraging way. _"Don't take Cedric Diggory's words to heart. He knows nothing. You're on the right path. Just remember to be Stefan when the time come, not Ivan or even Igor."_

Viktor nodded along but he didn't agree with any of it. He didn't want to be either three men, especially not his father because his father is an unhappy man stuck in an unhappy marriage working continuously from sunrise to sunset to distract himself from the fact that he is too old to change anything and will likely die feeling as unfulfilled as he did in life. Viktor didn't want to work for such a bleak, unpromising future.

* * *

"I'm so sorry, dear, but you just missed him," said Eliza. "I think you should give it some time. He's quite cross with you right now for looking through his personal belongings and Professor Krum can say quite hurtful things when he's upset."

"Ha!" Harold added to no one's benefit but his own.

"You really ought to go back to your ship," said the Fat Lady, slowly fanning herself while looking haughtily down at him from her impressive portrait. "You see, the password has been changed yet again and this time I'm absolutely certain that you won't ever guess it right, so you might as well scurry along before you get in trouble."

Viktor heaved a sigh, ignoring the other two portraits and looking dejectedly at Eliza. "You are sure he's not here?"

"You can check if you like," she offered, then hesitated before adding, "or perhaps it's something _I_ can help you with?"

He frowned. Was it really that obvious? "Is ok."

She smiled kindly. "You know you always come here when you've got something on your mind"

"How you know?"

She giggled at his answer. "Why, how _couldn't_ I know? Why else would you be awake at this hour roaming this old place talking to portraits of witches and wizards long dead?"

He shrugged. He didn't know what else to say. He didn't even notice it in himself.

That's when the concern showed on her face. She knelt on the floor of the portrait she was currently occupying to better look into his eyes. "But you really do look troubled this time. Whatever the cause may be I can see that it's weighing very heavily on your mind. It really breaks my heart seeing such good young men like yourself suffer in silence. I may not be as capable as Professor Krum, but I would really like to help you in any way I can even if it's just to lend an ear."

He considered it. He reckons it'd help him loads if he had someone to vent to.

 _You could've been talking to Cedric Diggory._

He shook his head. No point crying over spilt milk, is what his father would've probably said. "It's something only my grandfather can help me with."

"Well, alright then," she conceded, chewing her lips and wringing her hands in thought. "Perhaps…perhaps he's there now?"

She didn't sound as hopeful as she had planned, but Viktor appreciated the effort nonetheless. He gave her a weak smile. "I will check. Thank you." He bowed. "Your slippers are three portraits to the top, four to the right. They are drying by the fire."

She perked at that, rising to her feet with surprising ease and grace. "Oh, that's right! Mrs. Peckers had offered to clean and shine them for me when they got all dirty and scratched up! Thank you, dear, and best of luck!"

"And- and don't you dare try to learn the new password!" the Fat Lady warned. "You'll never know it, so really you ought to stop trying and give up this silly little quest of yours so the rest of us can get some sleep sometime!"

" _You're_ the one keeping us all awake with your shouting!" one of the portraits shouted.

"I am just giving him a friendly reminder," she huffed. "In case he thinks of trying again when he hasn't for weeks. I am just being prepared for the inevitable, because he _will_ try again obviously! Nothing wrong with that."

* * *

His grandfather's portrait was empty. It was in a better state than the last time he saw it after he had Eliza turn over books and drawers, so he must've been there at some point and had probably stayed for a while before leaving again. Why did he leave so often anyway, and most importantly, where would he leave to? Viktor knows there isn't a second portrait of him in the manor or Durmstrang or even the Bulgarian ministry.

Viktor sat on the ground before the portrait and pulled his fur cloak closer to his body even though he wasn't feeling cold at all. _"I apologize for the mess. It was entirely my fault. Eliza didn't want any part of it, but I insisted. I deeply regret violating your privacy, Grandfather, and I hope that you'll forgive me."_ He held his breath, waiting for any kind of movement, then released it in one go. _"It's just that people around me are all saying so many different things. My father, your son, he doesn't talk about you, and I want to get to know you but I don't know where to start or who to talk to."_

Dumbledore. Dumbledore had to have known Iliya Krum if he had taught at Hogwarts, or at least he implied that he could be of help the last time they spoke. Then again it's possible that he was referring to the tournament. It's not like he knew about Viktor's nightly wanderings, and Viktor wouldn't want word to reach Karkaroff should he try his luck with Dumbledore because he's sure that if he crosses the man one more time he's never getting another chance.

He swallowed. _"I need your help. I'm at a really strange place. Physically I can see that I'm improving in so many areas, but I can't help but feel so weak and… and I'm just so confused. Things are going according to plan but there's this_ thing _, this nagging sensation at the back of my head telling me that I'm doing something wrong."_ He shook his head, then chuckled. _"I can't believe I'm talking to Professor Iliya Krum about hearing voices. I am definitely losing my mind."_ He looked at the empty portrait, tired and worn and desperate. _"You're the only one I have left. Please talk to me. I don't know what I'm doing anymore."_

* * *

A/N: Transition chapters are the least fun to write but unfortunately this one was just too important to skip.

Thank you all for your lovely messages/reviews and for your continued support!


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